


Overtime

by JadeTigress



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Angst, I /swear/ Flug and Black Hat get together eventually /I promise/, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, gratuitous misuse of dream sequences, literally i'm sure they'll be on fire at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-05 02:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11003769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadeTigress/pseuds/JadeTigress
Summary: Dr. Flug is an overworked, underfunded scientist creating weapons for heroes. It's not his dream job (actually he hates it), but at least it pays the bills- and besides, he's dedicated. Sometimes you just need to chin-up and take one for the team, even if that "one" is being held at gunpoint by a villain. It's not like he has any other options.(It's villainy, being a villain is his other option.)





	1. Overtime

**Author's Note:**

> So Villainous has hit all my weak spots and has gotten me hooked to the point where it's actually got me writing- a miracle. So here you go.  
> This chapter contains some violence and just a smidgen of blood, so caution there.  
> The relationship tag won't come into full play until later, but there's some banter so there's that too.

 “Goodnight, see you tomorrow Flug.”

Dr. Flug raised his head from where it was bent over a mess of circuits and wires to watch as his last coworker shouldered off her lab coat in exchange for a heavy winter one. She smiled and waved as she headed out.

“Night June,” he responded, lowering his head back down at the the soft clink of the glass doors to the lab sliding back shut. As the air stilled, the silence settled back down around the room.

Sweat dripped down Flug's forehead and he bit his lip as he tried one more time to connect the wires in front of him. If only he could just – but he flinched back as sparks flew again. He leaned back, wiping at his forehead.

Everyone else had left for the night, it was well past working hours. Hell, Flug wasn't even getting overtime for this. He was just determined to get this newest invention working before he left. Only, he'd been working on it all day, to no avail.

Flug threw himself back in his chair, pulling up his goggles to rest crookedly in his hair. It was messy, choppy, and sticking up, desperately in need of a comb after sixteen hours at work. He rubbed at his eyes roughly, causing purple splotches to reflect behind his eyes. He stretched, and winced as the bones in his back cracked.

He decided he needed a break.

The company didn't pay him enough, and he didn't have the funding or supplies he needed to tackle the projects they expected him too. Nobody in the lab did. He didn't know why they expected tired, overworked, underfunded employees to be able to supply the government funded heroes that defended the peace, _and_ somehow be able to keep pace with every new advancement and death machine that circulated the black market. It was impossible, and really just a terrible system.

Luckily, there were plenty heroes that funded or invented their own tech, but the government always tried to keep pace with both those heroes _and_ the villains that were constantly destroying public property and terrorizing the public, all while arming the police.

It was all a mess was what it was. And they didn't even pay overtime.

Flug was the only one who was dumb enough to stay late.

He stood from his seat and stretched again, raising his arms above his head. He patted down his lab coat. Maybe a walk would clear his head and help him figure out just how to get that damned decelerater to function.

He listened to the quiet beeping that emanated from every corner of the lab as he strolled around. His station was only one of many, shoved into the corner of the larger room, shunted off to the side and disregarded. Larger space was given to those who had either been there longer (not that Flug was new, no he'd already dedicated several years of his life to this hell-hole) or were just better at playing the system (read: sucking up to the higher-ups).

Machines and gizmos of every kind were scattered across the other stations. Some glowed, some whirred, some sparked menacingly as Flug peered in, causing him to flinch and walk by quickly. Everyone else seemed to have at least a working prototype of some sort, and Flug was still stuck welding pieces together that refused to stay.

At this rate, he'd never get to go home.

He sighed as he completed the stroll to the other side of the room, successfully stretching out his legs and working out some of the knots in his back. There were no windows, and only two exits, so there wasn't much else to do in the stuffy room. His eyes flickered around to the two sliding glass doors on either side, the yearning to go home rising before he shoved it back down with a determination to finish his work. He circled back round, passing by the other door in the room, the one that lead farther in the building, before approaching his little corner shoved in the back and settling back down to stare dismally at the piece of junk on his desk.

Resolutely, he pulled the goggles back down from their perch in his, still messy, hair to cover his eyes. They cut off some of the edges of his vision and dulled the room once more.

He began to weld, and the sound of the machines filled up his head until he was once again completely immersed in his work. The rest of the world faded away as his vision, attention, and focus all narrowed to a pinpoint. The world could have collapsed around him, and he wouldn't have noticed.

He didn't know how much time passed like that. Just that it must have been late into the night. He'd spent plenty of all-nighters in the lab before, nobody would be surprised if he was still sitting there come morning. On some occasions, he wouldn't even notice as his coworkers entered and exited.

When the sliding door slid open, disturbing the dead air, Flug didn't even notice. If he had, he may have looked up, or he may have simply kept working and assumed one of his coworkers was returning (maybe June forgot something). Either way, it didn't matter, because he simply didn't notice. He also didn't notice it slide shut. He didn't notice the distinct click-clack of footsteps on the tile floor – the sound of shoes with a hard sole as opposed to the no-slip shoes all the scientists wore.

It was shortly after all these things that Flug didn't notice occurred that he successfully welded the last circuit. He smiled triumphantly, put down his tools, and leaned back to admire his work. He moved to pull his goggles up again, only to be distracted by a muscle cramp in his side. He winced.

“Ow, crap,” he muttered. He moved to rub at his side; he needed to move around again.

He shoved his rolling chair out, pushing off his desk with his hands and kicking out with his feet childishly, just to see how far it would slide.

He didn't get very far though, literally, as his chair hit an obstacle and stopped, moving no more than a couple inches backwards.

Flug furrowed his brow, and began to turn his chair to see just what he'd run into. Sure his work-station was cramped, but there was nothing _that_ close to knock into.

He was stopped as something gripped the back of his chair, spinning it around and pushing it back into place in front of his desk. He froze, brain short-circuiting.

“And what are we working on here?” A voice directly behind Flug's head asked. He became acutely aware of what felt like breath near his right ear, as his mind searched frantically trying to identify a speaker to go with the voice.

He couldn't.

“Oh dear, did I startle you?” The voice said, humor bleeding through. “Terribly sorry.”

Flug gripped the edge of his desk. The strength of his grip was the only way to keep his hands from shaking. As it was, his entire body was wound tight as a wire as he remained frozen in fear.

The man behind him chuckled quietly, obviously delighted by Flug's distress. Not a good sign. Flug's slim hopes that this was just an overly-friendly new coworker or creepy janitor drained away as memories of previous “incidents” replaced them.

“Are you mute, or have I just left you speechless?” the man asked, tapping Flug's shoulder. Flug nearly jumped, all the tense energy in him waiting to be released like a spring. He opened his mouth to say... something snappy.

“I don't think you're actually sorry.” Was what came out instead, and Flug grimaced as the words left his mouth. He wanted to smack himself in the face, but his hands were still too busy holding onto the edge of the desk as though if he held hard enough, he could pull himself out of this situation.

“Very observant!” The man behind him actually laughed, and Flug’s shoulders tensed as a weight settled against the back of the chair. “I guess that doctorate is good for something hmm?”

“Huh?” Flug asked. He still might not be operating on all cylinders.

Flug nearly squealed as movement flashed across his vision, something flying towards his face. His hands finally detached from the desk to shield his face as he flinched.

“This is you right? Unless this is someone else's desk?” the man asked. When no impact came, Flug slowly opened his eyes again and lowered his hands. He blinked. His vision focused on what appeared to be his nameplate, proudly displaying his title.

However, his gaze quickly traveled to the hand that was reaching around from behind him, holding the plaque in front of him. It was tar black, and – oh, yeah, those were claws. All doubt fled his mind, this was some kind of monster come to raid the labs, and his chances of survival were dropping by the second.

Why couldn't he have just gone home at a normal time.

When he didn't respond, the man (monster? demon?) behind him sighed.

“While I do love your terror, I am a busy man and would just _love_ if we could speed this up a bit. Now, quickly please, you're 'Dr. Flug,' correct?”

“Yeah,” Flug answered reflexively.

“Then you have security clearance, right?” The man asked. Flug felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes,” he replied anyway. There wasn't much else he could do.

“ _Wonderful,_ ” the man said. Flug could almost hear the malicious smile reappearing. “Then it looks like you're our unlucky winner.”

Flug watched as his nameplate got casually tossed away. He watched its path through the air, and almost laughed as it landed oh so neatly in the waste-bin by his desk.

The chair was jerked backwards, rolling a couple feet accompanied by the click-clack of dress shoes, before stopping abruptly and whirling to face the rest of the lab. Flug was still unable to catch a look at the man behind him during all of this, but he wasn't sure if it was because the man wanted to remain disguised, or that he simply enjoyed Flug's panic and unsubtle attempts to catch a glimpse at his harasser.

“Stand up, I'm not going to roll you around,” the man commanded, though there was a hint of humor in it. The nervous energy in Flug snapped, and he jumped to his feet immediately. He jumped again as a clawed hand gripped his right shoulder, preventing him from escaping.

“Now you've made my job much easier. We're going to take a stroll to the vault, you're going to deactivate security, unlock it, retrieve some fancy inventions for me, and then make sure no alarms go off as I leave. Are we clear?” The question was accompanied by the sudden pressure of the cold muzzle of some sort of gun right between Flug's shoulder blades.

“Crystal,” Flug responded. Only now, the energy drained out of his body as the reality of the scenario set in. This wasn't just some common criminal or lower villain, this was somebody who knew about the vault, and could only have world-ending intentions with what he retrieved from inside it. His legs turned to led, and only the pressure of the gun at his back and the claws digging into his shoulder, pushing him forward, kept him moving.

He looked around at the lab again, it was the same as it had been not a few hours earlier when he'd been spying in on everyone elses' inventions. Nothing had been disturbed, and they were even taking the same path his feet had earlier on his walk. The only change was that before he'd been casually skipping around, and now he was dragging his feet on his way to death row.

And the whole lab was a little darker, but that was just because his goggles were still on, slightly crooked, hiding his eyes. Hey, even if the rest of his body language and facial expressions read full terror, the villain wouldn't be able to see it in his eyes.

They took a right where Flug had gone straight earlier, turning to head deeper into the building.

“I was expecting to have to take a much more violent approach here, but lucky for us, you can swipe through,” the man said, giving Flug a prod with the gun.

Was it just a normal pistol? Or was it something that would disintegrate him instantly? Or freeze his whole body – to either ice or stone? Or something even worse? Or –

“Come on now,” the man said, voice suddenly closer, whispering directly in Flug's ear. He flinched.

“ _Yessir_ ,” Flug muttered bitterly, reaching for the ID clipped onto his coat. He waved it by the sensor and the door slid open.

“Good,” he said. Flug would almost describe the tone of voice as 'preening.' The claws gripped slightly tighter on his shoulder, digging into his skin through the fabric. Flug opened his mouth to say something, but was pushed roughly through the doorway and stumbled before getting yanked back to his feet and forced to keep walking.

Neither of them spoke as they continued down the hallway, sliding doors snapping closed behind them, cutting off the mechanical sounds from the lab. The only sounds left were the swishing of their clothes, the sharp footsteps of the man and the soft, squeaky ones of Dr. Flug, and both of their breathing. (At least whatever it was, it still had to breath. That was good, he guessed.)

After they reached the end of the hall, it branched to either the left or the right. One way led to the offices of the execs, the other to the deeper corners of the facility and the vault. Without hesitation, the man used his grip to turn Flug to the right and march on. He knew where he was going.

“I've already deactivated the cameras,” the man said, breaking the silence. “A simple precaution before entering the building and all that, but honestly I expected the place to be empty.”

“It's what I get for working overtime,” Flug replied casually, all fear slowly being replaced with bitterness and sarcasm. God, he hated this job.

The man laughed, pleasantly surprised by the shift in attitude. His vice-like grip released from Flug's shoulder and his hand moved to pat him on the cheek. Flug tensed and glared at the offending hand before it returned to his shoulder.

“Poor doctor. Well don't worry, it'll be over soon.”

Yup, definitely didn't like that phrasing. Flug tactically chose to not mention the time-lock.

The pair continued down the hallway, through several more ID locked doors. Flug only hesitated once, standing before the last door before the vault. He had a brief internal struggle, before the sound of a 'click' behind him spurred him on and he unlocked the door.

Soon enough, he found himself standing in front of the actual vault door, facing the control panel for the locking mechanism. This one was much more complicated than just an ID swipe. He hesitated again.

“What's the hold-up?” The man asked.

“Nothing,” Flug muttered, and began to type. He worked through the system, entering pass-code after pass-code (some he wasn't even supposed to know) before reaching the final lock. He froze up again. Once he disabled the security and unlocked the vault, there was really no reason for the intruder to keep him around. He bit his lip, and tried to think fast.

“Again?” The man seemed to be losing his patience. This was, as some might say, _not good_.

The time-lock would give him some time to think, but only if he extended his usefulness.

Flug never was a good liar, but he took a deep breath, and allowed the bitterness that had been simmering rise up and reinforce his will.

“The last lock is time based,” he replied. Okay, good start. “It's a bio-lock, and requires me to hold my hand to the scanner for a set amount of time before it'll open. So that you can't be forced to open it I guess, because struggling would mess up the scan.”

It was almost true. It was a bio-lock, but the hand scan just set off the timer.

“That's dumb,” the man said, surprising Flug. It was a break from the over-dramatic speech pattern the man seemed to have. “And I suppose I can't just kill you and hold your hand to it?”

Flug coughed. He shook his head violently. “N-no. That would mess it up.”

“Of course.” The man sounded almost bored now. “How long does it take?”

“Five minutes,” Flug replied, hands moving again, pulling up the scan.

“Five – well fine, get on with it then doctor I don't have all night.”

Flug nodded. He pulled off his glove and placed his hand to the scanner. A small beep sounded, signaling a successful scan, and the timer began. Flug tensed, wondering if the man would catch on, but he didn't seem to notice. The timer began counting down.

5:00

4:59

4:58

The sound of the timer echoed around the room. Okay, he got this far, but now what? Struggling wouldn't really work. Pleading _certainly_ wouldn't, and would also be humiliating. He needed a plan, a real plan. Something to knock the villain out, or drive him away somehow. He could set off the alarm easily, but then there'd be nothing to stop the man from killing him. He needed some way to protect himself, and some threat strong enough to scare him off or a weapon strong enough to knock him out, but not kill him. (Flug really didn't like the idea of killing someone, but he didn't even know if this demon-monster-man could even be killed. There were some things out there that surpassed his knowledge, even as a scientist.)

The timer was counting down though, and Flug only had access to the alarm, nothing else.

“Soo,” the man said, startling Flug out of his thoughts. The pressure on his back disappeared, though the grip on his shoulder remained, and he heard the sound of something whirring. “This your first hold-up?”

Flug didn't respond for a moment, processing the question, before he snorted. He lifted his free hand to cover his mouth as more giggles escaped. Maybe it was a way for his mind to cope with the situation, but it seemed hilarious.

“Yup,” he said between chuckles. “Never had it happen to me, personally. Just heard stories.”

“Well, I hope I live up to the expectations,” the man replied.

Flug heard some motion, a movement of air and an impact. It repeated a couple of times, until Flug realized it was the sound of the man tossing his gun into the air and catching it. He was off-guard.

“Pleased to have you as my first,” Flug replied. He turned his head slightly, and sure enough the man wasn't paying attention. He was just able to catch a glimpse of his captor, and what he saw made him pale again.

He wasn't sure if he'd call the figure behind him a man – his sight confirmed that whatever it was, it was much closer to a demon than a man. Just like its hand, it's face was pitch black, and the one eye that wasn't hidden behind a monocle had a pupil that was glowing faintly red. It was smiling, and its teeth were almost cartoonishly sharp to match the claws on the hand that was, yup, casually tossing an intricately designed ray-gun of some sort up into the air, twirling it, and catching it easily. Oddly enough, it was dressed in formal-wear, and even had a tall tophat.

Flug stared in dismay, gears in his mind catching and grinding to a halt.

The demon spun the gun around one more time, before its gaze traveled slowly back to Flug. Its eye crinkled in delight as it met his gaze, and it flashed a smile that in any other situation might be classified as 'charming' had it not been accompanied by razor sharp teeth and a redirection of the ray gun at Flug's back.

“Oh, the pleasure's all mine,” it said, and Flug snapped his head back to face the panel.

The timer was almost up, and Flug had failed to come up with a plan more sophisticated than- “Banter With It, and Maybe It'll At Least Make Your Death Painless™”- which had backfired, as the demon seemed even more delighted at Flug's new wave of fear, and probably intended to torment him even more.

The gun was aimed at him again too, dammit.

“Uhm,” he fumbled, “and who exactly should I thank for this wonderful hold-up?”

Oh that was bad, so bad. Flug winced, and waited for some sort of shot, because that deserved immediate death, scan or no scan.

“Is that your way of asking my name?” The demon responded instead. Flug stopped himself just short of sighing in relief, apparently the demon found his pathetic banter amusing.

“Yes?” Flug said.

“Why? So you can report it?” The demon responded again, amusement fading slightly, replaced with a suspicious note. “You think you'll get the chance?”

“No- I mean not no that I won't- I mean, don't villains usually like the attention?” Flug stammered. He tried to turn again to gauge the demon's reaction, but the gun pressed into his back again and he froze. _Dammit_.

“Are you calling me vain?” Okay, the amusement was back, un-dammit.

“No?” Flug's looked the timer again, it was running out fast.

“I mean, I am,” the demon said, laughing, “but who wouldn't be, if they were me?”

Pride, okay, Flug could work with that.

“Well you are the first one to successfully break into the vault,” Flug offered, smiling nervously. Each second passing by made him more tense as he tried to regain the flimsy composure he had held earlier.

When no response came, Flug hesitated.

“And – and you're quite – intimidating,” he continued, venturing. “Just… solely on presence.”

“True.” The demon preened.

Well that was, surprisingly easy.

“I don't know how I haven't heard about you before, are you new to-”

“Ah-ah,” he cut in. “I'm vain, not stupid.”

“Of course,” Flug deflated.

“Though I _do_ love to hear compliments in that pitiful little voice of yours,” the demon said, leaning in close. Flug tensed and stood up straight as he felt breathing on the back of his neck. The claws already digging into his shoulder gave a meaningful squeeze.

Flug had been around enough heroes and seen enough televised fights between famous rivals to get a grip on banter, but this seemed even more homoerotic than normal. He struggled to come up with a response other than stammering.

“Ah – well – you-”

Just then, the timer hit zero, a loud chime sounded, and the door to the vault began to slide open.

“Oh will you look at the time,” the demon said, straightening.

Flug let out all the air in his lungs in relief as the other left his personal space, before taking a sharp intake of breath as he realized what that meant. His gaze darted from the panel, to the alarm, to the door slowly creaking open, to the demon, who was watching the doorway with a wide grin.

His hand twitched, moving towards the alarm, but stopped when the demon turned back to look at him.

Well life was good while it lasted, Flug thought faintly.

“Wonderful.” He took a step towards Flug. “Now, you're going to go in there and retrieve Experiment 141 for me. No dilly-dallying.”

Flug unconsciously moved to follow directions before pausing after a few steps.

“Why do I have to go in?” He asked. Maybe it was dumb to question the brief reprieve he was being given, but it was strange. Why hadn't the villain killed him as soon as the door was open?

He scowled at Flug, smile dropping before refixing itself with an extra layer of sickly-sweetness.

“How do I know there's not extra security in there that'll activate as soon as I enter?” He asked. “Now hurry up.”

“You mean you don't know-” Flug cut himself off as the demon's expression tightened. He nodded quickly and turned to enter. “Just, uh, one question. What does it look like?”

The hesitation on the other end was all Flug needed. There was moment of silence before, “It should be marked Experiment 141, I don't know how much clearer it can be _doctor_.”

 _He doesn't know_.

He didn't know what was inside the vault. Did he even know what that specific experiment was? Or did he know _only_ what that specific experiment was?

“Of course, _sir,_ ” Flug replied, ducking quickly into the vault.

A plan quickly formed in Flug's head as he scanned over the contents of the vault. Some machines he recognized, other objects were mysteries to him. Hidden among the guns and gadgets were vials and jars. He shuddered as he passed what appeared to be something moving – _beating –_ inside a frosted jar.

He thought they developed tech for heroes, but the deeper he got in the vault and the more things he saw, he wasn't so sure.

When he reached the back, he scanned the shelves for anything useful.

That's when he saw it, the experiment that the villain had asked for. It sat on its own shelf, with “Experiment 141” labeled clearly in front.

It seemed deceptively simple. It was just a silver sphere, small enough to fit in his pocket, covered in metal plates. He picked it up, weighing it in his hands. It was surprisingly heavy, and upon closer inspection, he could see several small screws holding it together.

Maybe it was some kind of grenade? But there didn't appear to be any pin to pull, buttons to press, or any other way to activate it.

He shrugged, and held onto it as he searched again for anything to help.

Most of the vault was composed of dangerous prototypes, things that worked just enough to be effective, but not enough to release on the world. (On the rare occasion, they worked _too_ well to be released on the world, but he'd been _told_ those kinds were destroyed.) Some of them he'd even helped with.

When he spotted one such invention, he almost cried out in joy. He rushed over to the side of the vault to where the small metal pentagon hung from the wall. He snatched it up, and clipped it on his belt underneath his coat, hidden from sight.

With that, he might be able to set off the alarm and survive.

He grabbed a couple other devices, a stun gun, a destabilizer, even a prototype freeze-ray. Flug heard a voice call from outside, a vague threat, telling him to hurry up. It was a weak plan, but it was all he had. He turned to leave, sphere on hand and pentagon on hip.

That's when something else caught his eye. On a shelf near the entrance, the reject shelf, he spotted another invention he'd helped work on. The anti-gravity device.

It'd been an utter failure, instead of effecting a single person like had been intended, it turned the whole room that surrounded it into a zero-G chamber. That had been one bad day at the lab, none of his coworkers had been happy when suddenly their chemicals and components had started floating away. It'd ruined several projects, and gotten him the ire of several of his less forgiving lab-mates. He was pretty sure they'd sabotaged his next couple of machines.

What was important now though, was its shape. It was a palm-sized sphere.

Flug rushed over, weighing it in his hands. It was lighter, but...

He can't let the villain get what he wanted, he thought. The anti-gravity device was useless, but the experiment was obviously valuable – or dangerous, maybe world-ending dangerous. He couldn't let the villain get his hands on it, but if he thought he had it, he might be more likely to flee instead of persist.

That's how Flug justified it. That's what he reasoned as he grabbed the anti-gravity device and headed back towards the entrance.

He chose not to explain to himself why he tucked the other sphere in the pocket of his pants instead of returning it to the safety of its shelf in the back of the vault. He ignored the feeling of giddiness, the simmering bitterness and hate for his work shifting beneath the surface. The feeling of _revenge_ , though he wouldn't admit it, not yet.

He was about to go fool a villain, trick him – for the greater good _of course_. Any ulterior motives... well, now wasn't the time for that.

It was in the other frame of mind, the one focused on foiling this villain for good, that he exited the vault.

“Finally,” the demon said, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. “Do you have it?”

There was a brief moment where Flug's anxiety came back, full force. Why was he doing this, trying to trick him, he should just play along and hope he doesn't kill him, or does and just does it quickly.

But he stomped it back down, and confidently approached the other. (But not too confidently, that would give him away.)

“Here,” Flug said, offering him the anti-gravity device. He twitched as the other grabbed it roughly and pulled back his hand defensively.

The villain grinned widely, ignoring Flug to marvel at the device in his hands. Flug held his breath, waiting for the moment it all turned bad. Where the demon realized it was being fooled and turned on Flug. But it didn't come. Instead he just turned it over and over in his hands, admiring the device.

Flug took the moment of distraction to inch towards the panel.

Unfortunately, that's when the other decided to look up. Flug froze, wondering if he'd noticed the movement.

“Thank you doctor, you've been _such_ a help,” he said.

“Ah, you're welcome,” Flug responded dumbly. He was far too focused on how to get over to the alarm. His hand reached down to his belt, subtly making sure the device attached there was active.

“Really, this would have been such a hassle otherwise, I can't thank you enough for speeding up my day-”

“But?-”

“ _But_ ,” the demon continued, smile widening. “I'm afraid this is where we must part ways.”

Flug looked at the ray gun, which was of course pointing at him again.

“I'm going to assume I don't just get to go home now?” Flug asked. “I was really looking forward to that. Getting a good night's sleep, and then coming back to work tomorrow and being _really_ surprised that someone broke into the vault last night. 'Oh no, who could have done that? Certainly not a handsome man in a smart suit and hat who's name I don't know, I'm sure he was off being the greatest villain ever somewhere else.'”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” the demon said, and his grin grew sharper. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

He pulled back the safety on the gun, and it began buzzing.

“Was worth a shot,” Flug replied. He tensed, ready to dart for the panel.

He just really hoped that damn device worked. It was a prototype after all, so it had an equal chance of working, not working, or exploding.

Well, it might have had a slightly higher chance of exploding, but at least then it would take them both out.

“Goodnight doctor,” the villain said.

Light flashed out from the gun, and Flug darted to the side.

He wasn't fast enough to completely dodge the beam of – whatever it was – it struck his side. He shouted, whether out of fear or pain, he didn't even know himself.

A loud static shock resounded throughout the room, throwing electricity in all directions. Flug was thrown to the ground. His upper arm made contact first in an attempt to break his fall, but it only managed to absorb the shock and break the bone instead. Now, when he cried out, it was definitely in pain, as it rocketed up his arm.

He looked up in time to watch the villain dodge one of the lightning bolts thrown off from Flug. His eyes widened in disbelief, before settling back on Flug. The shock slowly morphed into anger, which escalated to fury.

“Why you-”

Flug didn't wait to hear the rest of that sentence. He scrambled to his feet, despite the fire burning through his nerves and how his right arm hung loosely at his side.

“No you don't! Get back here-!”

He heard another whirring, but before the villain could do anything, Flug slammed his fist down on the alarm.

Sirens began to sound throughout the building, accompanied by the cliché red flashing lights. The police would automatically be called and accompanied by even a hero or two due to the high-profile nature of the facility.

Flug smiled triumphantly.

Then he caught sight of the villain again, and his blood froze in his veins.

If he'd been scary before, he was now terrifying beyond belief. It was as though his physical body had grown, elongated, and gotten sharper. His entire eye was now glowing red, a bloodred that somehow managed to be redder than the light that had flooded the room. His teeth were bigger, and what appeared to be acid was dripping from the corner of his mouth.

Flug stumbled in an attempt to move backwards, and fell down to the floor again. This allowed the demon to loom over Flug as he approached slowly. A whimper rose in the back of Flug's throat.

It didn't look like the villain was going to flee. Not without killing Flug first.

“That,” the demon said, “was a bad idea.”

Even his voice was different. It sounded like several voices layered over each other, each more bloodcurdling than the last. Were they all coming from the villain? It was like it they were emanating from all directions, from the very air.

“The- the police are coming,” Flug tried in an attempt to drive the villain off. “They'll be here any minute, with heroes too.”

“I know,” he responded, standing directly in front of Flug, who's back hit the wall behind him – nowhere to go. “I don't care.”

He raised the gun and fired again, point-blank. The beam impacted against the force-field again, which, through the grace of whatever god may be, did its job and dispersed and reflected the beam again. However, the energy still had to go somewhere, and the kinetic energy tossed Flug back like a rag-doll.

Only with him already being up against the wall, it was more like being slammed into by a small car. It knocked his head against the metal wall, and he could feel one of his ribs crack. His vision narrowed, but by some miracle he kept consciousness.

He began to cough violently, and blood splattered onto his lab coat, staining the white a ominous red.

It must have done some damage internally.

The gun whirred again, and Flug prepared himself for another impact, but it didn't come. Flug watched as the villain observed him coldly, calculating, before his eye lit up. He tossed the gun to the side and leaned down.

“What-” Flug said, or tried to say, he was wracked by coughs again, and blood rose in his throat and began to drip down his chin.

The demon grabbed the front of his shirt, and lifted him into the air as though he weighed nothing. His eyes widened in terror, and the demon smiled before moving forward, pinning him against the wall.

Oh, of course, the force-field only worked against projectiles.

Without a word, the demon's hand moved from the front of his coat to his neck, holding him up by the throat.

Flug's hand, the left one that wasn't hanging uselessly, rose to grab desperately at the demon's arm. He pried at it, hit it, clawed at it, but it was no use. He was no more than a fly to this being, nothing he did had any effect.

“You're the one who had to make this unpleasant,” the villain spoke, humor returning as Flug struggled futilely. Flug tensed, waiting for the other to break his neck.

But he moved more slowly than that, dragging it out. He pressed harder, cutting off Flug's air completely, but not enough to crush his windpipe.

He wanted to watch Flug suffer, he realized, he wanted to drag it out.

Flug's vision began to fade. His mind stuttering to a halt. He dully observed that the blood dripping down his chin must've been dripping onto the villain's sleeve. Maybe it would stain.

His hand dropped from where it was clawing at the other's arm, going limp. With his mind fogging over, he only had enough mental power and will to make one more attempt. He reached into his lab coat and grabbed the first invention he laid his hands on. He pulled it out, pointed it at the demon, and pulled the trigger.

Turns out, force-fields work both ways.

The shield that was still activated and sitting on Flug's belt detected the projectile surge of energy from the stun gun and redirected and dispersed it like it was designed to do – only in reverse, shielding the villain.

Either because he was caught off-guard in his moment of triumph, or because this stun gun prototype settled itself snugly into the “Explodes On Use” category, the kinetic energy produced managed to throw the villain back and across the room.

Flug fell to the ground in a heap, coughing furiously and attempting to get air back into his lungs. It was a struggle, because it appeared as though blood was much better at getting there than air.

“ _Fuck_ ,” the demon yelled. “Why won't you just _die!_ ”

Apparently the force wasn't enough to keep him down for long because he was already rising. Maybe it was because Flug's brain was somewhat oxygen deprived, but he was pretty sure the demon had increased in size again, and was maybe smoking? Or was that because of the gun? Was Flug smoking? He couldn't tell.

“I _swear_ ,” oh no, he was approaching again, “I'm going to _tear you apart_.”

Flug watched as he got closer, but was too weak to do anything, so he just closed his eyes and waited for the next blow.

“ _When I get my hands on_ -”

It didn't come.

Flug heard loud noises. An explosion? Someone running. Shots? He wasn't sure.

He pried his eyes open again to see vague shapes. More than one. But his scrambled mind couldn't sort it out.

All he knew is suddenly smoke filled the room, and his battered lungs were forced to fight another assault.

When the air cleared, things suddenly quieted down. He could hear voices, but they weren't the same one that had been haunting him for what felt like an eternity, the one that had damned him and called for his head.

No, this one was softer, prompted him by name. Asking questions.

He tried to get his eyes to focus, but they slid back shut again.

The voice raised in volume, as if trying to get his attention.

Hands gripped his arms, and he was too weak to even flinch as they brushed up against his broken arm.

He felt lightheaded, and light-bodied. As though he were flying, or somebody was carrying him away. His thoughts flickered to how easily the villain had lifted him, and he decided he liked the flying idea better.

A smile graced his lips at the thought of flying away, and with that his mind drifted off as he finally lost consciousness.


	2. Down Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between recovering at the hospital and explaining his actions to the police, Flug uses his down time to agonize over what exactly he's doing and just how bad a day he's having.  
> (At least he knows that whenever his stuff starts floating in the air, Black Hat will be having a worse one. So that's something.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thing's first, thank you all for your wonderful comments! The positive feedback on this was amazing, and I'm so glad!
> 
> No particular warnings for this chapter other than, like, the description of Flug's injuries and this boy's bad self-care habits (someone get Flug a bath bomb or something). From that, you can probably work out that Black Hat and his Black Hat-ish antics don't show up in this chapter, but I promise he'll be back. This chapter is more plot and feelings and less Flug getting beat up,, but don't worry,, he's not out of the park yet :)))
> 
> There's also the introduction of some other characters here, and seeing as Villainous has four (4) whole characters (one of which is a bear and currently Not in Existence, and another that I have Big Plans for but won't appear until later) some characters in this story are going to be original characters, that's just how it Gotta Be. Sorry, if Alan drops some heroes on us I will adjust accordingly, but in the mean time...

The first thought that came to Flug's mind as he drifted back into consciousness was: _Holy shit, my head hurts._

Followed shortly thereafter by: _Holy shit, my chest hurts._

And concluded with a: _Holy shit, my arm hurts._

He groaned, or at least tried to, because what came out was more comparable to a wheeze. He felt like he'd been hit by a truck, and then that truck driver's friend had run over his arm while that truck driver's friend's acquaintance strangled him with a garden hose.

Overall, not great – but breathing.

He cracked open his eyes to take in his surroundings.

The room was bright, obnoxiously bright, forcing Flug to squint. He lifted his head up and looked around.

He wasn't in the lab anymore, that much was obvious, though it had a similar aesthetic – bright and clinical. He was lying down in a bed. It only took a look at the IV hooked up to his left arm to connect the dots, and quick scan around the rest of the room confirmed it. He recognized the off-white walls and lime titles from that one time he'd taken himself out with his own knock-out ray when it had exploded in his face. He'd had woken up here then too, it was the hospital a couple blocks away from the lab.

He sighed, settling his head back onto the pillow. While it was never a great experience to wake up in the hospital feeling like you got hit by a truck, the familiarity of the place and the reassurance that someone had probably taken care of that pesky internal bleeding while he was out did miracles to sooth his nerves.

It appeared as though he was in a single-person room, as his was the only bed. Nobody else was there, so he had a moment to collect his thoughts and strain to remember what had happened before he had to interact with anybody – a small blessing.

He started with identifying just what was broken. Answer: a lot.

He stared dismally at his right arm, which was now encased in a blue cast. He flexed his fingers, which poked out of the end, and winced as a jolt went up his arm. Good thing he was relatively ambidextrous, he'd still be able to function (even if it was at 50%).

He took a deep breath to test his lungs, but started to cough when his throat burned. His eyes watered as he hacked, which only caused more pain in his throat. He took a shuttering breath to try and get it back under control, and tried to breath again, shallower this time. There was a slight rasp in his throat, but his lungs appeared to be in working order and not filled with blood. He'd never been more grateful for doctors (the medical kind that is).

The rest of him appeared to be fine. He flexed his legs, his left arm, rolled his shoulders, and wiggled his left fingers – all functioning. There was the minor detail of the IV sticking out of the inside of his left arm though, so he didn't jostle that too much for fear he'd dislodge it.

So, bad arm, bad throat, mediocre internal organs, good other limbs. Not too bad, he could work with that. It was _much_ better than the alternative.

He shuttered as he thought of that, remembering the events of last night. Or at least he assumed it was last night, he didn't really know how much time had passed.

He could have died at _so so_ many points, he was honestly astounded that he had managed to make it through to the point where he could be sitting in this bed musing over his injuries. Normal people usually didn't make it out of interactions with villains, not alive, and _especially_ not a pissed off one.

The memory of that demon, its bloodlust, reignited Flug's anxiety. Yeah, he'd gotten away, but he was pretty sure he was on that thing's personal kill-list now, which was... not good. His paranoia sparked, and his eyes raked around the room again, darting from one side to the other, as though the villain had been hiding behind the curtain the whole time and was waiting for a cue to reveal himself.

This, of course, didn't happen, but it didn't stop Flug from double checking.

For the moment he was okay, he reassured himself. He reminded himself that this was a hospital, and that this particular hospital had high-security (he remembered seeing something about it being frequented by injured heroes and officers, it was close to the city center.)

But then the door opened and all rational thought left as Flug pictured the criminal just strolling in. It caused Flug to jump, and he jostled his arm and swore quietly under his breath.

In entered a woman in a long white coat hanging over pale green scrubs. She was reading something on a clipboard, only glancing up at Flug after closing the door behind her. Flug smiled nervously as she gave him a once-over that tweaked Flug's anxiety. Her eyes traveled back up to his face, where they lingered. She looked back to the board, hand still resting on the knob.

“Hello?” Flug asked. His voice still rasped, and he coughed quietly to clear his throat.

“Hello Doctor Flug. Apologies, I didn't expect you to be up so soon,” she replied. Her hand moved from the knob, pulling a pen from the pocket in her coat. She clicked it, paused, then looked down to the board to jot something down. “But that's good. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, well, pretty good, considering,” he said. He shot her another weak smile. “Uh – you said you didn't... what time is it? Or what day?”

“Don't worry, you've been unconscious for less than a day,” she scribbled as she spoke. “An exceptionally good recovery,” she muttered.

“Oh, well that's good,” Flug said, mostly to himself. Despite her initial reaction, Flug had still been worried she would respond that he'd been in a coma for several years or something like that. He sure felt like it.

“Sorry, introduction, I'm Dr. Reseda, I'm in charge of your recovery,” She said, waving a hand dismissively and looking back down to her board. “Now, can you give me a more detailed description of your condition? Any serious pain or nausea?”

“Well, yeah, I'm pretty sore, but nothing's too bad- surprisingly. And no, not really?” Flug responded. He watched as she nodded, pursing her lips and writing it down.

“Wonderful, how about your head? Are you dizzy at all, or feeling at all light-headed or disoriented?” She brought her eyes back up to Flug, tapping her pen against the board.

“No,” he said, “I mean, I've got a headache for sure, but I don't think my brain's too scrambled.” He grinned, but the doctor just nodded and looked back down, writing.

“Do you remember the events of yesterday night?” She asked, really pinning him with her gaze now. “You did suffer a head injury, so don't be surprised if some things are blurry.”

“Oh yeah,” Flug groaned. He half wished he didn't remember last night, that villain was going to haunt his dreams and plague his days for sure. Maybe literally, but Flug didn't want to think of that right now, his anxiety was high enough. “But- well except for near the end. I remember pulling the alarm... and then,” he began to reach for his throat, but jerked to a stop as he accidentally pulled on the IV with the movement. He dropped his hand back down. “Ah, and then I think I was vaguely conscious when help came... but after that I'm pulling a blank.”

“That _is_ when you lost consciousness,” the doctor said, startling Flug. “That's what we were told when you were brought in anyway,” she clarified. “We were given a full run-down, in case the nature of your attacker caused any... complications. Luckily, most of the damage you suffered was purely blunt-force.”

That didn't sound super lucky to him, but he supposed it was better than getting fried or stabbed.

A memory surged to the forefront of his mind. He remembered the distorted, inhuman silhouette of the villain as he marched towards Flug, all sharp edges and claws and teeth. It was all back-lit by a room that was tinted red and spinning. He remembered his voice, physically assaulting him, layered a million times over and closing in. _I'm going to tear you apart._

Flug grimaced. Yeah okay, maybe it was lucky, blunt-force sounded really good actually.

“You do have a couple- well, actually. I can give you a full run-down of your condition, your treatment here, and our recommended treatment now, or I can return later after you've rested more. It's your choice, I don't want to overload you with information if you're still feeling in pain or groggy.”

“No, go for it. I can handle it, I'm tougher than I look,” he said, attempting a reassuring smile.

Dr. Reseda just raised an eyebrow and gave him a meaningful once over.

Okay yeah, maybe now wasn't the best time to make that joke. He realized that he must look even shittier than he felt, and that even on a _good_ day he still looked like a string-bean who'd blow over if the wind blew hard enough. But hey, he'd survived hadn't he? Better even, he'd tricked the villain.

“Promise.” He grimaced, waiting to hear the full brunt of the damage. He hadn't lied, he did feel weirdly okay, especially given the circumstances, but that couldn't be right. He knew he'd gone through a beating, from both the villain _and_ his own self-sabotaging devices, _and_ he'd only been out for half a day? Either they were replacing his blood with straight opioids, or he'd knocked his head harder than he thought.

“Okay. In that case, like I said, most of your injuries are blunt-force trauma. I don't know exactly what happened last night, they only gave me the basic information and apparently even they were lacking in _that_ -”

The cameras had been out, Flug remembered, they didn't know anything.

“But it seems like you got thrown around a bit. Your Ulna is broken on your right arm – as you can see we've set it and put on a cast. It'll take some time to heal, but it was a pretty clean break. You also had a cracked rib, but it didn't break, so take it easy on it and it should heal.”

She actually had to flip the page on her clipboard, reading more off a second page. Flug repressed sigh.

“Your left hand had minor burns and a few cuts,” she looked up and gave Flug a look that clearly read 'I cannot imagine how you did that, but it doesn't surprise me seeing as I read your medical records.'

“But again, it should heal fine. You had a few minor cuts and bruises otherwise...Your throat is badly bruised, so take it easy on that and don't strain it...”

She flicked down the page and raised her gaze to Flug.

“Now, the majority of the internal damage seemed to be to your lungs, but we've taken care of that. Which leads me into your treatment.”

Flug furrowed his brow. He distinctly remembered coughing up blood, it had been pretty unpleasant. 'We've taken care of that' seemed a little too easy. But he stayed quiet.

“I have a list of medication to give you upon your release which...” she looked up, pursing her lips. “Well, if you keep up this projectory, may be sooner than expected as well.”

“Could you be more specific?” Flug asked, he was getting a little annoyed by her vague wording.

“Tomorrow morning at the earliest,” she responded, tapping her pen. “I'm sorry, I'm just... You see, you've been given an especially strong medicine, and it's working _really_ well.”

Flug stared in confusion, and opened his mouth to speak. He stopped when the doctor looked at him again, only this time her clinical nature dropped and she looked at him earnestly.

“When you came in you were in pretty rough shape. I did what I could, and don't get me wrong you weren't going to die, but I expected you to be out cold for a while. Maybe need another go in the OR. But we were able to give you a new medication – stuff normally saved for the heroes you know – and it fixed you right up from the inside out. I was honestly surprised.”

He sat in shock for a second. That was a lot to take in... and a little concerning. The first thought to come to him though, was:

“Does my insurance cover that? Because I mean, that sounds... not cheap.”

The doctor actually cracked a smile, shaking her head.

“Oh no, your bills have already been paid.”

_Okay... what?_

“I'm sorry, what?” Flug asked. “By...? Coeus?”

It was possible the company had paid for it, seeing as he'd been injured in the lab, but it seemed somewhat out of character for a company that probably would forget they'd hired him if his name wasn't on the payroll.

“No, though I'm sure they would have, seeing as how you were injured. No, it was the lady who brought you in – a super. Said her name was Laverna and was dressed in this ridiculous outfit – like they all are,” she rolled her eyes and gave Flug an exasperated smile. “She was the same one who suggested the treatment. Said she was one of the first at the scene, rushed you here.”

“Well that's... great. That's great then.” He shook his head, and looked down at his broken arm and bandaged hand. Just... “Did she say why?”

“Well I'm sure you could ask her. She said she'd like to talk to you when you were feeling better. Actually,” she tapped her pen against the board for emphasis, “a lot of people want to talk to you. When you check out, they'll probably have a whole list. The police wanted a statement, and your employer wanted to speak with you too, probably for the same reason.”

“Oh.” He blinked, still confused.

“She _did_ say something about feeling bad. Either feeling bad or feeling responsible, not sure. I was a little busy wheeling you into the OR.”

“Why would she feel responsible?” He asked, frowning. Maybe she was the villain's nemesis or something, but it would be a big coincidence that she just showed up to the scene – especially since the cameras were out and nobody would have known just who was there or what was happening. She wouldn't have known the intruder's identity, not even Flug did and _he'd_ been the one attacked, but that was for different reasons.

Maybe she was just an overly sympathetic (and wealthy) hero.

“I don't know. Those supers – most of them are in it for the benefits I'd wager, but you do get the occasional one with a martyr-complex. All I know is you can thank her for a speedy recovery. We'll keep an eye on your condition for now, but if this keeps up, you can be released by tomorrow. Let me know if anything changes or your pain worsens. For now, I have other patients to see, so unless there's anything else?” She asked, already putting her hand back on the handle to leave.

Flug thought for a second, trying to remember if there was anything else he needed to be concerned about. He was worried about the villain coming after him sure, but hopefully talking to the police (or even the hero) after he got out would take care of that. And maybe the villain would forget about him, seeing as he probably had big important world domination plans to get to.

Only he didn't really have what he wanted, which meant he was even more likely to come back for Flug. Once he realized what Flug had given him was the anti-gravity device instead of –

The sphere!

“Ah! Yes!” Flug said, voice rising slightly before he pulled it back under control. “Do you know what happened to my stuff? Like my, uh my phone and clothes and stuff.” He wanted to wring his hands, but couldn't, so he just flexed the fingers on his left hand.

“Oh? Oh yes, sorry,” the doctor said, pausing. “It should all be in holding. You'll be able to pick it all up when you check out, just talk with security. I know it seems a bit like overkill, but seeing the nature of some of our patients, we need especially high-security. But it should all be there and you shouldn't have a problem retrieving it. That all?”

“Of course,” Flug replied. “And yeah, thank you doctor.”

She nodded and turned the handle, exiting the room.

Flug deflated and flopped back onto the pillows as soon as she closed the door behind her. He tried to let the tension leave his body. What was he doing?

Apparently he was on the fast-track to healthy, but it didn't really translate to going back to normal. Even when he got out, what was he going to do?

The execs at Coeus were sure to take inventory. They'd see exactly what was missing. If it got that villain's attention, it must have been pretty important. Which meant they'd be looking for it, which meant that they'd be asking Flug about it, which meant he'd have to lie because he also had to compose a story of what had happened. They'd have to take him for his word, they had no other source of information unless they were going to track down and ask that _demon._ Flug's was the only side of the story. He wasn't a particularly good liar, as previously established, but they wouldn't really have anything to call him out with. Maybe he could play up the whole 'Severely Injured by a Literal Monster on Company Premises' thing, especially since he'd been working past hours to meet company demands.

But even if that worked, if they bought it and pinned the missing device on the villain, well that didn't change the fact that _he_ didn't have it, which meant he'd be coming _back_. If he'd been pissed Flug had managed to survive and even land a blow with that energy kickback, he'd be _even more pissed_ when he realized that Flug had pulled one over on him too.

The only bright-side to the situation was the mental image of that vain, twisted megalomaniac in his lair, gloating over his victory, only to have all his furniture start flying through the air. Flug giggled at the idea, imagining the man's expression of disbelief as he began to float away with all his things. He _really_ hoped he had a bunch of loose papers and objects just laying around, it'd be a _huge_ mess to clean up. Maybe his stupid hat would fly off too.

He didn't really want to think about his reaction after the shock faded though.

To pass the time and battle the nervous energy building in him, Flug decided to come up with a rough plan for when he got out. He'd get his things, take inventory and make sure everything was still there – especially the device.

If it wasn't... well then he'd hit a brick wall. At least he wouldn't have to deal with it anymore.

But either way, he'd retrieve his things, get a hold of the device again, then head home. There he could investigate the device more. Or maybe do some research into the intruder, find out if there was any information on who (or what) he was. Maybe even figure out his name! Wouldn't that be something!

Then he'd give the police their statement, and the company theirs. It wasn't like he could work now with his arm as it was, so he needed to talk to them about that too.

He'd tell them what happened. They'd seen the villain when they'd arrived, so he'd just tell them how he'd been held up, forced to open the vault, and fought back when he got the chance – even if the villain had managed to get away with the device in the end.

They didn't need to know about the part where he'd taken it.

It occurred to him briefly that... he could just give it back. Say he'd held onto it for safety reasons and, well, give it back. That was the truth wasn't it? He'd given the villain the other device to encourage him to flee with his prize (even if it hadn't worked – he should have assumed that he was too proud to let Flug get away after thwarting his murder attempt). It really shouldn't be hard to just give it back.

But he didn't want to. He'd almost been killed for that thing, had at the _very_ least bled internally for that thing. And honestly, it piqued his curiosity. He had no clue what it was – there was no way to tell from a glance, but it _must_ have been important. He wanted to investigate it, figure out what it was, what it did, how it worked, why the villain wanted it.

Plus the villain was going to come after him because if it, so he might as well actually have the thing he was going to be hunted for. Maybe it would even work as a bargaining chip, if he could figure it out.

So he dismissed the thought. He was keeping it, and they were just going to have to deal with that.

Finders keepers. Kind-of.

 

* * *

 

 

The doctor's prediction held true. Flug was released the next morning when he proved he was able to get up and walk around fine. Dr. Reseda had been skeptical, suggesting he stay longer just in case, but Flug wanted to get out as soon as possible. He hadn't been able to sleep, mind racing all night, filled with a combination of ideas and anxiety. If he had to stay in that room for another minute, wondering if the device was safely downstairs, worrying the villain would break into the hospital, concocting a reasonable story, and dreaming up potential experiments to investigate the device, he would have thought himself crazy.

After getting dressed in normal clothes provided by the hospital, sweats and a plain white t-shirt, he headed straight to security.

(There'd been a brief moment when he'd gotten stuck in his own shirt because of the cast. Luckily nobody had been around to see that.)

They hadn't given him any trouble, and soon enough a guard was returning from a back room with a bag which he handed to Flug. It took all his self-control to not tear into the bag to search for the device then and there. He politely thanked the guard and headed for the lobby.

There, he talked to the receptionist, who gave him a list of names and numbers. He stared at it a second, confused, before realizing it was a contact list for all the people who'd requested to speak to him. The police were obvious enough, same with the company, but he'd forgotten about the hero. He shrugged and tucked it in the bag with the rest of his things. He politely thanked the receptionist too.

Finally, he was free to walk out.

He hoped he didn't look too suspicious with just how quick he hightailed it out of there. Hopefully they'd just think it was because he hated hospitals. Still, he held his breath as he made his way home.

Once he was safely at his apartment, sliding the chain into place, he was able to relax.

It wasn't big, but it only had to fit him after all. Just a simple, one bed one bath apartment. Which you'd think would be cheap, but due to its location, close to the city center and his work, it was actually pretty ridiculous.

He sighed, kicking off his shoes at the door and shoving them to the side of the entrance. He stepped into the small entrance room that served as his kitchen, dining room, living room, and office all in one.

It was an old apartment, the floors creaked and the walls made some concerning sounds sometimes, but Flug kept it neat and clean. In what time little time he spent at home, he made sure everything ended back in its right place and stayed spotless. In his already overworked schedule, it was another chore he added upon himself in the never-ending list of self-imposed requirements.

It left little time for sleep, but when did he ever sleep these days anyway?

He went to his desk, sweeping the loose papers out of the way. He heard a couple pens hit the ground and roll, but ignored it in favor of dumping out the bag onto his desk. Out came a jumble of clothes and objects.

He noticed a distinct lack of any of the inventions he'd taken from the vault. It caused his heart to jump to his throat. They must have all been taken off of him before they'd rushed him to the hospital. His anxiety rose and his breath caught in his throat, a resounding fear rushed through him that they'd taken back the device.

He grabbed his pants, maneuvering them with his one hand until the pocket was face-up. He took a deep breath and dug into it, sighing in relief as his grip closed around a small object and yanked it out.

There it was, the cause of all his problems.

Well the recent ones anyway. (The recent, not self-caused ones.)

He turned it around, watching the way the dim overhead lights reflected off its pristine surface. Like before, it's purpose remained a mystery to him. There were no buttons or triggers disrupting the smooth silver surface. In fact, it appeared to be made of only two plates. Only one small line ran right through the middle of the metal, and was held together by no more than four screws placed equidistant around the fault line. Turning it over in his hand revealed nothing more than that. He brought it closer to his face, and examined how his reflection stared back at him.

The sight of his own face made him frown, and he lowered the hand again until it faded from the surface of the orb. He stood there for a moment, thinking, before placing the device back onto his desk. He needed tools if he was going to find out any more, which meant a trip to work.

So, to put _that_ off, he sorted through the rest of his things. The pants and shirt got thrown over the back of the chair, and his shoes got tossed across the room to land in a heap by the door.

He grimaced as he held up the coat, spotting the small red splotches staining the front. He hadn't expected them to wash it, but _still_. He frowned and folded it against the back of his chair along with his other clothes.

He raised his goggles to examine them, and noticed that they'd been cracked at some point. He didn't remember that happening, but he had been rather distracted and a little rattled in the head. (In fact, they'd probably broken when his head had hit the wall anyway.) He shrugged and placed them on the edge of his desk.

His wallet seemed in order, so he put that on the edge of the desk too, before finally picking up his phone and pressing the button to turn it on.

It was dead, he should have expected that. He sighed, and held onto it as he moved into the next room. He entered his bedroom and plugged in the phone by his nightstand. Light flickered across the screen, indicating it charging and starting back up.

He sighed again, he ran a hand through his hair impatiently. He immediately regretted it, because it forced him to stop ignoring just how greasy it was. He groaned, and slunk off to the bathroom.

Once inside, he finally took a good look at himself in the mirror. As usual, he felt a vague discomfort just looking at his reflection. He didn't know when he'd started feeling that way. Maybe it was when he realized just how haggard he looked all the time, but he felt like it stemmed from something more and went back farther than that. But like always, he ignored it. He rested his one hand on the edge of the sink, readjusting his other shoulder so the sling hung more comfortably, and leaned forward.

He looked pretty rough, even for his own standards. The dark circles under his eyes were par for the course, but they seemed even more exaggerated. The left eye seemed even darker than the right, and Flug wondered if might have been bruising, a minor black-eye. But in contrast to the dark splotches, his skin was actually paler than normal, only emphasizing the bruising. It also highlighted the freckles that were lightly spattered across his nose and cheeks, which he wished he could just scrub off. He pursed his lips and tilted his head around, checking to see if there was any other bruises or cuts to be worried about. When he didn't see anything, he moved on.

His hair _still_ needed a comb, but first it needed to be washed. He ran his hand through it again and grimaced as the brown locks stood on end for a good second before flopping back down. He couldn't really hop under running water with the cast and bandages, so he pushed back off the counter and turned on the faucet.

He grabbed his shampoo from the shower and leaned forward, washing his hair in the sink. He splashed water on his face while he was at it.

He drew back and grabbed a towel to wrap about his head. He snorted a little bit when he noticed it matched his cast. A true fashion icon.

He headed back into the room to check his phone, which had finished booting up. He was surprised to find he had several missed calls and a voicemail, from his supervisor which he expected, but also from some of his coworkers. Word must have gotten out to the rest of the lab, and apparently at least two of the other scientists cared enough to check to see if he was still alive.

 _Or more likely_ , he frowned as the thought rose to his mind, _they want to hear the story of what happened first, get their hands on the juiciest workplace gossip_. He scowled and dismissed the notifications. He checked his voicemail, and it was pretty much what he expected, work asking him to drop by as soon as he could to talk about the 'incident,' (why they thought he'd be in any shape to answer his phone anytime soon, he didn't know).

He ignored the twinge of sadness that rose in the back of his mind. The oppressive feeling that tugged at him, reminding him that if he were to disappear, nobody would notice. He didn't have any family to visit him, or friends to send flowers. His bosses would be inconvenienced at the very least, seeing as he was one of the most dedicated workers there, but his lab-mates would only take bets on just how he'd sabotaged himself this time before they all forgot he even used to have that desk in the back corner.

Okay, maybe ignoring it didn't work all that well, so he decided to get busy to distract himself. He tossed his phone back down on the nightstand and went to dig through his closet, picking out a presentable outfit to head out in. He pulled out a plain short-sleeved gray button-up shirt and some clean pants.

(His arm almost got stuck in the shirt again. Life was a cruel mistress.)

On his way out, he paused. He went over to his desk and snatched the device off its surface and tucked it back into his pocket. He felt overly possessive over it, and Flug wasn't about to leave it behind. He also grabbed his wallet and the keys to his motor scooter (still parked outside work). He thought for a second, and then grabbed his old messenger bag and pulled it over his uninjured shoulder. With that, he left.

The reasonable, most legal option would be to head straight to the police. They would want a statement after all, and he was pretty sure he was legally obligated to give them one. Plus, it would look _extra_ guilty if he avoided it.

So he headed off on foot, he lived close enough, and ran over his story again in his head.

 

* * *

 

He'd never been questioned by the police before. He'd always considered it a good thing. It meant he'd never done any wrong, been on the wrong side of the law, been concerned about being punished – never even really considered doing something worthy _of_ punishment. However, it meant he had _no_ clue to how the procedure should go, or what to do.

He had just kind of... walked in, and told the receptionist that he'd been asked to report to the station to answer some questions. He then sat awkwardly in the lobby, self-consciously adjusting his shirt and sling.

He'd been waiting not even ten minutes before a man in a dress shirt and pants and proudly displaying a badge came out to meet him, introducing himself as Detective Parker.

They'd walked to a separate room, which seemed normal, but made Flug nervous nonetheless. Was that normal? Did the police always take witnesses to a room? Or was that solely for interrogations? Did they know he took the device? Or was this just proper procedure? He didn't know, and he _hated_ not knowing things – he couldn't plan for things he didn't know.

When the got to the room, the detective had left him there, saying he needed to retrieve his partner. Flug smiled and nodded, and made sure to not drop it when the cop left in case it was some kind of test. But did they really need two detectives?

Flug sat alone in the room, resisting the urge to fidget. It was just a normal room, a single table with several chairs placed around it, and a mirror which Flug _knew_ was one-way mirror. _That_ was common sense. (Or at least he'd seen enough police procedurals for that).

He made sure he seemed completely calm, despite the buzzing fear tumbling around inside his head.

Detective Parker finally returned, this time accompanied by a woman. Just from the sight of her, Flug could see she was important. Her black hair was cut short in a crew-cut, and her stature was imposing – standing next to the detective she had a good inch on him, which made her taller than Flug too. Then, his eyes caught on her clothes. She wore a uniform emblazoned with the symbol of a lightning bolt striking the earth, designating her as member of the Hercules Program. Flug's blood ran cold, before he reminded himself they were after the villain, whoever he was, not Flug. The guy must have been pretty important if they assigned a super-soldier to the case.

Which only meant Flug was even more screwed if they didn't catch him.

She pierced him with her gaze, and Flug shot her a weak smile.

“Doctor Flug, this is my partner, Acacia. She was one of the reporting officers on the scene,” Detective Parker said, sitting down on the other side of the table from Flug.

While the hero mentioned by the doctor appeared to be a freelancer, this one was apparently strictly within the law. Flug bet he worked to arm her.

“Now, we'd like to ask you a few questions about Tuesday night, to get the details about what happened before we arrived on the scene and to confirm some things.”

“Of course,” Flug responded. He was proud, he managed to not sound nervous at all.

“We'd just like to hear your story. We've increased security around the lab and vault, but we need to know exactly what happened. If you can start with your account of the events of Tuesday night?” The detective took out a notebook and smiled reassuringly.

The super-soldier hadn't said anything, just sat down in the other seat across from Flug.

Was this good cop, bad cop?

“Well,” Flug started. He licked his lips and gathered his thoughts. Here it was, where he had to be convincing. He reminded himself that he'd managed to trick the villain yesterday, he could do this.

He began recounting the events. How he'd been working after hours, the intruder had come in and held him at gunpoint, he'd been forced to open the vault, and had managed to set off the alarm and alert the police. Simple enough.

He explained he didn't know who the villain had been, hadn't been able to identify him, and that he'd only complied because his life had been at risk.

“I would've pulled the alarm sooner,” he explained, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand and grinning apologetically, “but, well, I'm pretty sure that would've ended badly.” He glanced down at his right arm. “Ah, worse than it did, anyway.”

“Of course, we understand, you handled the situation very well for a civilian,” the detective said. He nodded and wrote what he said down, which reminded Flug to pick his words wisely.

The other officer leaned forward now, pinning Flug in place with the simple movement. His stomach turned and he tensed.

“We were able to see the intruder,” she said. “But we couldn't conclusively identify him, seeing as our visual was obscured. However, your description confirms our suspicions.”

“Oh?” Flug asked, genuinely curious. “Oh, well, that's good. He seemed kind of – well he wouldn't tell me who he was but I don't know if its because he cared or he was just trying to freak me out. So you know who he is?”

“Yes,” Acacia said. Flug frowned as the woman's demeanor remained the same, cold and judging. “He's a criminal commonly known as Black Hat. He's a big deal in the black market, but manages to avoid both the law and freelance heroes by working solely through proxies and _never_ making physical appearances outside of wherever he's hidden away. He's _very_ dangerous, and we know almost nothing about him.”

“Well, we know he's an inhuman,” the detective cut in, using the legal term for beings the public (Flug included) commonly referred to as 'monsters.' “But other than that, he somehow manages to both keep under the radar _and_ be one of the biggest names in some important circles.”

That sounded about right. It explained the combination of dodgy behavior and ego. Flug didn't know if it made him feel better or worse to hear that the ego was apparently justified.

Worse, he decided after a moment, definitely worse.

But on the other hand, he obviously wasn't that great. Flug had outsmarted him.

“What we do know, is that he keeps under the radar because he uses tech, doesn't usually show up in person, and when he does he _doesn't_ leave witnesses,” Acacia said, bringing Flug back to the present. He winced, unconsciously reaching for his right arm.

“Sorry, we don't mean to upset you,” Detective Parker said, shooting his partner a look.

Oh yeah, they were definitely doing good cop, bad cop.

“We just need you to know what we're dealing with here, it's _imperative_ that we figure out what his plan was and why. If you have any information on that, you need to tell us.”

Flug's mind darted to the device. It was important, it was really _really_ important, this just confirmed that. The logical part of his brain yelled at the illogical part, the part that held on possessively. He should _really_ give it to the police.

He didn't.

“I'm sorry I can't tell you more, I really am,” he said, eyes flickering from one officer to the other, from the calm detective to the tense super. “All I know is he sent me in the vault to get an invention I didn't recognize, and when I gave it to him he tried to kill me. That's when I pulled the alarm, and you can see where it went from there.”

The detectives looked at each other. Something passed between them that Flug desperately wished he could have decoded. He wasn't great at reading faces at the best of times.

Detective Parker nodded, and seemed to move on, pulling out several pictures.

“When we arrived, we found weapons on the scene, some very dangerous,” he explained, presenting photographs of the crime scene and giving Flug a meaningful look. “Some on your person.”

“Oh, well, that one was his,” Flug responded, pointing to the picture of the ray gun. “The others I – uh,” he hesitated, “well I grabbed them from the vault. It's how I managed to-” the word 'survive' caught in the back of his throat for some reason. “Escape,” he finished lamely. “With those and the force-field.”

“Is that what this is?” He presented a picture of the pentagonal device.

“Yes,” Flug responded, examining it. In the picture, the metal appeared to be burnt, or at the very least scorched or stained black with some substance. “Looks like it got fried though.”

Flug was suddenly _really_ glad that the villain, Black Hat, hadn't tried firing at him again.

“And you just happened to find this?” Acacia asked. Something in her voice caught Flug's attention. He looked back up at the two, brow furrowing.

“Well, yeah, it was in the vault, a lot of inventions are.” Flug frowned.

“Why didn't Black Hat enter the vault himself?” The detective asked, leaning forward. Warning bells went off in Flug's head at the eagerness of the motion. He leaned back to keep the space consistent.

“I don't think he knew –“ _what was inside._ Flug paused, thinking over his words. “Or, well, I think that _he_ thought that there was more security inside that would activate if he entered. I don't know, I asked the same question myself when it happened.”

“So he just let you go inside unsupervised?” He asked. Acacia remained quiet, watching Flug as well. He scowled.

“Yes, he did. Like I said, I don't know _why_ , but he did. And I'm glad he did because if he didn't I'd probably be dead.” He moved to cross his arms, but jostled the broken one and winced, seriously detracting from the intention of the movement.

“That's fair,” the detective replied, eagerness fading. He drew back.

“It just seems like unusual behavior,” Acacia cut in, pressing further. The detective looked at her, but her gaze was locked on Flug. “Why would he let you enter a vault full of dangerous prototype weapons? Why trust you to retrieve what he wanted?”

A thrill of panic ran through Flug at the implications that could be hidden behind that question. It opened the possibility that Flug could have _not_ retrieved what Black Hat had wanted. And he really didn't want that possibility to be explored.

“I don't know!” he said, maybe a little too loud. “What-”

“It just seems very unusual,” she said, staring at Flug. “Why would he go through the trouble of forcing you until then, and then allow you to get your hands on a way to fight back? Surely he would have planned for that possibility.”

“Wait...” Flug stared at her for a second, but she remained steady.

“Acacia,” the detective said, “I think that maybe-”

“Wait you're – you're not accusing _me_ are you?” Flug asked, train of thought clicking into place. He stared at her, shocked. “Didn't you say that you saw him there- why would I? You _saw_ him right?”

“Now hold on,” Detective Parker said, holding up his hands.

“Unless you're saying I – I worked with him?” Flug may be bad at reading others, but he was far from incompetent. The detective's spluttering and super's silence confirmed it, and something in Flug began to boil. He was indignant. Sure, he may not be completely innocent here, maybe he wasn't entirely in the right, but something about associating him with the monster that had beaten him to within an inch of his life seemed almost like an insult. Okay, he'd tricked Black Hat and taken the device, but if it hadn't been for Black Hat breaking in and threatening him, trying to _kill_ him, he wouldn't have had to do either. His anger at the accusation mingled with a building fury for Black Hat, which for this moment, managed to overshadow his fear of him.

Long story short: Flug may be treading on thin ice, but he'd break it himself before he let this hero – the likes of which he worked to arm and protect – accuse him of working with Black Hat.

Even shorter: he was pissed.

“I – he _broke my arm.”_ He gestured at the cast. “He _strangled me._ I would have _died!_ I had to go to the hospital and they had to make sure I didn't _choke_ on my own _blood!_ I – I can't _believe –_ “

“Now hold on!” The detective stood up, shoving his chair back. The scraping noise resounded throughout the room, and aggravated Flug's headache which had come back full force. “Calm down sir, we _aren't_ accusing you of anything.”

He shot a glare at his partner. It seemed pretty genuine to Flug, but he'd lost his trust in both of them, so he just shut his mouth, grit his teeth, and tried not to scowl too hard.

“We're just – concerned,” he explained, giving Flug an apologetic smile. “See, my partner has dealt with Black Hat before, and knows how important it is we retrieve the experiment he stole. We just want to catch him, we're concerned, I apologize if we came off as anything else.”

Flug set his jaw and analyzed what he said. So they did know what was taken, that only added to the risk of keeping it. He let his irritation hide his concern.

“Well maybe he was just stupid,” Flug snapped, crossing his one arm over his chest. This time, he managed to pull of the gesture without hurting himself. “He seemed pretty full of himself, maybe it didn't cross his mind that I could fight back. You talk like he's some secret evil mastermind, but then he wouldn't have let himself get outsmarted, would he?”

“No, I suppose he wouldn't,” the detective said, smiling weakly.

“Of course not,” the super cut in again. “But it doesn't make him less dangerous.”

“Noted,” Flug replied, and it was. Just because he'd failed once didn't mean his following tries would be less dangerous – they'd probably be more-so. “Were there any other questions you wanted to ask me?”

From the look on the detective's face, there had been, but his smile only faltered for a moment before returning and being aimed at Flug.

“No, I think that's all we need for your statement. We'll call you if there's anything else we need.”

“Happy to help,” Flug said, smiling back. He didn't bother to hide the irritation behind it, and immediately stood up and left.

He had some things to pick up.

 

* * *

 

Upon arrival at the building, Flug was greeted by security. The on-duty guard's eyes widened as Flug approached the desk, flashing his ID to open the door.

“Dr. Flug! You're back!” He said, maybe a little too loudly. Flug lowered a glare at him, which flew right over the guard's head. Of course, _now_ the guards knew his name. He should have known it would only have taken getting beaten to a pulp on company grounds. “The others didn't think you'd be back for another week, with, uh...”

He trailed off. Flug bit back a snide remark, asking whether or not _he'd_ been on duty two nights ago. It made Flug make a note to check the system, see just who he really did have to thank for that wonderful experience.

“Well I'm not up to working, just dropping by,” he finally said. He ignored whatever the guard had to say after that, walking through the door.

He'd always been so concerned about what his coworkers had thought of him before, but now it seemed almost insignificant. He had other things to do.

Flug took the elevator up to the top floor. As it rose, he rolled his shoulder and adjusted his sling. He braced himself and watched as the doors opened.

He went straight to his supervisor's office, he'd requested to speak with him after all. He knocked on the outside of the door and waited for the response.

“Come in,” it said.

He opened the door and stepped in.

When he entered the room, he saw his supervisor. The man looked up, still holding his pen.

“Why Dr. Flug, what a pleasant surprise. They told me you were released from the hospital this morning, but I didn't know if you would feel well enough to come in,” he said.

A tiredness washed over Flug, and he barely restrained himself from sighing.

“I just wanted to let you know that I'll be taking a medical leave,” he said, gesturing at his arm. “I can't really work with, uh, this.”

“Of course,” he said. “We wouldn't expect otherwise. We're terribly sorry about what happened-”

“And that if you need my statement you can ask the police, I'm sure they can give you a copy and it can help with security,” Flug cut in. He paused, debating within himself.

“Oh, we were hoping to hear from you,” the supervisor said, frowning and lowering his pen.

_Well that's too bad, I quit._

“I can give you more details when I come back to work,” Flug said instead. “I'm just – well I'm not feeling very well.”

“I understand,” he replied, smile returning, “And take it easy. I wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Thank you,” Flug responded. He turned to leave.

“When you get back, maybe you can even examine that new weapon!” He said cheerily. “You saw it work up close, I'm sure you could deconstruct it in no time.”

Flug thought of the gun. He thought of the bolt of lightning that had thrown him across the room and into the wall, that _could have_ done much worse. Bile rose in the back of his throat, and he almost turned back around and snapped just how _shitty_ that idea was – inconsiderate at the very least.

“Of course,” he said instead. He nodded and exited quickly.

Once the door closed behind him, he deflated. The words still bubbled up, _I quit._ But he couldn't say it, not yet.

He stood still for a moment, staring at his feet, before composing himself. He gripped the strap of his shoulder bag, and headed for his floor.

When he entered the lab, it was completely empty. He looked around, confused, before pulling out his phone to check the time. He'd lost track of it after leaving the precinct.

The edges of his mouth contorted into a smile as he read the time. In some sick sense of humor, he'd managed to drop by not half an hour after work had finished. Everybody was already gone, and here he was, back in the lab after hours _again_. He snorted, which escalated to chuckles. He reached up to rest his hand on his cheek as he began laughing in full, eyes watering at the edges.

How _hilarious._

He spend a good minute there, chuckling, before it began to fade and a dark emotion replaced it. He grimaced, clenching his fist. He took a deep breath, and moved quickly into the room.

He went over to his desk in the corner and looked it over.

It was exactly the same as he'd left it two nights prior, the ray he'd been working on sat in the same place in the middle of his desk. Even the desk chair was still rolled out, facing the rest of the room. Flug stared at it a second. He gritted his teeth and kicked it, causing it to roll away and smack into the wall.

A thought struck him. He then turned and grabbed the waste-bin, reaching in and pulling out his name plate. He dropped the bin with a clatter, and placed the plaque back in its rightful place at the front of his desk.

Better.

He stood behind his desk and took it all in. It was cramped as ever, cluttered as normal, and just as unsatisfying as usual. He looked over to the other desks and machines in the room, flashing lights visible from across the room. They bounced off the walls like cheap fireworks, or maybe carnival lights.

It made something in Flug's stomach turn as he looked back to the pile of spare parts and circuits on his desk. He came to a decision.

He picked the invention off his desk, turned, and dropped it into the trash. It hit the bottom with a satisfying _clunk_.

Flug closed his eyes for a minute, took a deep breath, and turned back to the desk. He gathered up his tools and shoved them into his messenger back. He glanced at some of the blueprints spread across his desk, and grabbed those too. He went through each of his drawers, grabbing anything that looked like it might be a help in investigating the invention, and finally ended his search by throwing a new pair of goggles in on top of everything else.

He closed up his bag and grabbed the back of his chair, shoving it back into place in front of his desk.

With that done, he made his way across the room, walked to the elevator, and marched in. He watched as the doors slid closed in front of him, slowly inching shut until they cut off the view of the lab and its contents.

It was the last time he'd be caught dead in _that_ lab overtime.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot express enough how much your guys' comments make my day! (That caffeine and positive reinforcement does wonders!)  
> I'm really glad so many of you like this and seem excited for more. (But oh no, expectations, I hope I can meet them haha)  
> I'll probably update weekly, but you can keep up with me on my tumblr if you want at jadetigress.tumblr.com. I'll be re-blogging stuff and posting things there, just small things and doodles, but hey that's still something :D
> 
> Again, thanks so much, it means a lot <3 And as always let me know what you think! (Need that sweet, sweet validation)


	3. A Devil of a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug has a run in with a devil and says hello to his guardian angel.
> 
> (He never was religious, but an exorcist is starting to sound like a good idea.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back!  
> Thanks again to everyone who's left a comment or given a kudos to this work. This has hit over 400 kudos, which is absolutely amazing! Thank you so much! I really can't express that enough!!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter are that Flug cannot get a break (and neither can his lungs) so some focus on injuries. Also: Black Hat! That's its own warning, and comes along with violence and injuries because he's terrible. 
> 
> I promise eventually these two will see each other and the immediate reaction won't be fighting, oops. (Cross my heart)
> 
> And again hero ocs, if that's a warning for you? Just one, but she's going to be moderately important, so..

For future notice, it's really hard to drive a motor scooter with a broken arm and a sling.

Just in case anybody was wondering.

Flug entered his apartment in a storm of motion, throwing the door open with such force that it smacked into the wall and rebounded, flying back at him. He caught it just in time to stop it from hitting his face, and shoved it again with a little less force until it knocked against the wall and stopped.

He threw his keys unto the stand by the door, and toed off his shoes, turning to slam the door closed again.

He marched over to his desk, shouldering off his bag, and threw it down too with maybe a little too much force. He stared at the bag for a second, just kind of glaring at it, before his stomach rumbled, breaking his train of thought.

Oh yeah, he hadn't eaten all day.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, it was already well into the evening.

Flug sighed, throwing his phone on top of the pile slowly accumulating on his desk. He turned and walked over to the kitchenette in the room, and began to search through the cabinets there.

Despite being a relatively successful scientist working for a prestigious company, he still lived like a broke college student and barely remembered to eat on a good day.

He frowned, gaze scanning over the various choices of different types of pasta and instant meals. He almost shrugged and skipped the meal anyway, until his stomach growled again, insistent.

Flug rolled his eyes and sighed, snagging a box of macaroni from the cabinet and set about making it.

After it was done, Flug settled onto the recliner, awkwardly balancing the bowel with one hand. Once he managed to sit down without spilling anything anywhere, he placed the bowel in his lap for a second, and reached for the remote. He turned on the news and returned the remote to its place on the arm of the recliner, and picked back up his “dinner.”

He kicked up his feet and tried to eat with one hand. Emphasis on tried.

He was getting really fed up with this broken arm thing.

Flug sat there for a bit, not really paying attention to either the news or his food. His mind was already wandering, thinking of what he could do to analyze, and the experiments he could do on, the device. He'd grabbed some of his measuring tools, plenty of tools to dismantle it, and even some spare parts in case he needed to create something else or modify it in any way. (If it really was dangerous, he might need a way to neutralize it.) He got giddy thinking of it. It was so different from his job, he felt genuinely interested and curious, and it sparked a fire in him he hadn't felt in a long time.

It wasn't working with people who were workplace-polite at best and downright antagonistic at worst. It wasn't handing off all his ideas and work to those who didn't care. It wasn't a constant pressure to keep working _or else._ “Or else” villains were going to destroy the city. “Or else” heroes wouldn't be able to do their job. “Or else” “ _our”_ heroes couldn't keep up with _“those”_ heroes.

“Or else” you're forced to stay overtime because you give a damn about actually doing work to meet demands, and avoid that “or else,” and end up getting robbed and beaten because _of course_.

Instead of _that,_ it was exciting _._ Flug was _excited._

He smiled, scraping against the bottom of his bowel to gather up the last bits of macaroni. His gaze was dreamy, and he almost didn't notice as the news flickered back from commercials.

He placed the bowel on the other arm of the chair, and reached for the remote to turn off the television. He paused mid-motion as he saw the picture on screen.

It was Coeus's logo, followed by a picture of the very lab Flug had just returned from.

His pulse jumped, and he fumbled for the remote. When he finally got a grip on it, he cranked the volume. Panic raced through him, had there been another break in? Had Black Hat come back for the device?

The newscaster's voice slowly increased with the volume until Flug could decipher it. His heart pounded in his ears as he listened in.

“...more information on the break-in Tuesday night. The criminal responsible has been identified as an inhuman who goes by the alias 'Black Hat,' it was at...”

Flug sighed, leaning back in the seat again. He chuckled at his own panic and reached up to rub at his eyes with the back of his hand, which was kind of hard when holding the remote, but he pulled it off. Of course, it had only been two days and he'd only given his statement today, news was probably still being released to the public. Everything was fine, as much as it could be.

“...an employee, a scientist named-”

Flug shot back up again, gaping at the television. They wouldn't. They had to know that was a bad idea.

“-Doctor Flug was the one who pulled the alarm, alerting security and...”

Flug hurled the remote at the television. It flew through the air, before hitting the screen with a loud _thunk_ and falling to the ground.

He sat there for a second, fuming. He clawed at his face, before reaching up and pulling at his hair in frustration. He stood up and felt the urge to hit something else, or kick something, but restrained himself and, grimacing, he went over to check to see if his television was okay.

After confirming that yes, the screen was fine, he jabbed the “off” button with a little more force than necessary. He picked the remote off the ground to chuck back over to the chair, landing neatly on the seat.

Silence filled the room again, leaving Flug alone with his thoughts.

He hadn't _asked_ them to not release his identity, so he guessed this was partially on him, but wasn't it just _common sense?_ Now anyone who bothered to watch the news would see his _personal_ involvement in this case. It could put him in even more danger! Black Hat already knew his name and where he worked (soon to be used to work), so that was already unavoidable, but now any other common criminal would know he had somehow faced Black Hat and survived. At the very least, his name was now associated with Black Hat on _live television._ Live _public_ television.

He scoffed in frustration, and began to pace the room.

The worst part was that a small part of his anger was aimed at himself. He should had known they were going to do that, and he could have asked them to keep his identity out of the news. The thing was, he simply hadn't thought of it. Which meant either he'd been _stupid_ or _lazy_.

He clawed at his hair again, grit his teeth, and shut his eyes tight, taking a moment to just breath.

He couldn't be _either._ Not anymore.

He had to face facts. He could be indignant that they hadn't thought about his “safety.” He could be offended they accused him of working with Black Hat. He could be mad that his work didn't appreciate him and sad they didn't care about him. And he could be scared that Black Hat was coming back for him.

But in the end, _he'd_ taken the device, _he'd_ lied to the police, and _he_ had to be the one to take responsibility for his actions and take care of their consequences. Even if he still didn't really understand _why_ he'd done what he'd done. He'd done it, and that was that.

Because of that he was mad at himself, but he was also terrified of how his own actions, the one thing he was supposed to be able to control, were what was causing his life to spin further and further _out_ of control.

He forced himself to calm down, slowing his pacing. It hadn't escalated to a full panic attack, so he was able to wind back down even if it was with some difficulty. He opened his eyes, and forced his hand away from his face, where it had been scratching at his skin again.

He took a deep breath, turning and heading off to the bathroom.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror, grimacing at the red scratches he'd somehow imprinted onto his left cheek and the left side of his neck. He splashed cold water on his face, and pulled back to look at himself again.

He frowned and fidgeted, eyes tracing from the new scratches to the old freckles. He scowled, turning and slapping the light off, making his reflection disappear, before stalking out of the room and back to his desk.

Flug immediately got to work, pouring out the content of the bag. Out came his tools, spare parts, blueprints, pens, papers, and goggles.

He smiled slowly, swiftly scooping up the goggles and pulling them over his eyes. He smile widened as the goggles dimmed the room and reignited the excitement from earlier.

He was a scientist, an inventor, an experimenter.

Flug sat down at his desk, shoving all his tools to the side. He adjusted his sling, and then pulled the sphere from where it still sat in his pocket. He admired it for a second, examining the pristine silver surface, which hadn't been smudged or scuffed at all from its trip in his pocket. He caught sight of his reflection again, face obscured by the large goggles. It didn't bother him as much this time.

He placed it down on the desk, reaching for the first logical option: the screwdriver.

But because life couldn't be that easy, when he tried to unscrew the screws holding the device together he found they didn't budge, as though they were somehow locked into place. _Wonderful_.

He sighed, and placed the screwdriver back down. Maybe it'd be better to make some observations first.

He grabbed a notepad from under a pile of junk on the side of his desk and a pen from the other side. He clicked it, and began to make a list.

 

Experiment 141

      1. Technically listed as an experiment, not invention. _Not sure if that's relevant_.

      2. Perfectly spherical

      3. Held together with 4 screws, locked into place. _Inner locking mechanism?_




 

He began taking readings with his tools. He measured it and weighed it. He noticed it also gave off an electrical field, to be expected with any electrical device, but didn't appear to be magnetic. He recorded that. That ruled out it being made of iron, and lowered the chances of steel. Flug briefly considered that it might be made of actual silver, or maybe platinum. The density would explain its weight – even if it wasn't solid all the way through.

He went to his bathroom and grabbed some hydrogen peroxide, scraping off a sliver of the metal to test. He dropped it in the solution, and sat back and watched as small bubbles began to form around it. He jotted it down.

 

      1. Weighs ~5lbs

      2. 3'' in diameter

      3. Electrical field. _Vulnerable to EMP?_

      4. Non magnetic

      5. Most likely silver. _Why though??_




 

Why would they use a precious metal? It was more conductive sure, but that increased the chance of it melting or shocking the user when it was actually used. It was weird.

But it only got weirder from there. Upon further inspection, Flug found it wasn't even staying at a constant temperature. At first he'd been sure it was just his imagination, but when reading its temperature it seemed to fluctuate between warm and cold at irregular intervals for _no discernible reason_. The machinery inside must be fluctuating as well.

 

      1. Inconsistent temperature readings? _Is it broken?? Conducting irreg temp???_




 

Flug tossed his notepad down in frustration, it bumped into the device causing it to bounce slightly before settling. He set his teeth and glanced around the rest of his tools.

In a last desperate attempt to accomplish something, he grabbed one of his scalpels. He struck the device, digging the thin blade into the fault line running through the middle of the sphere. Once it sunk in, Flug began to turn the knife in his grip, prying at the device and attempting to lever it in two.

Surprisingly, it began to give, crack widening. Flug made a noise of delight, and in a show of inappropriate lab etiquette _,_ leaned in close in excitement as the two halves slowly began to separate.

Because of his proximity to the device, by the time he noticed the black smoke that began to leak from the crack, it was too late, he'd already breathed some of it in.

He felt an _immediate_ burning in his throat, which traveled quickly to his lungs. He dropped the knife as though it were on fire, and clutched at his throat, hacking.

The knife sprung back, so much so that it actually sprung _out_ of the device as the two halves reconnected with a snap. The knife flew across his desk with the force of the connection, and fell right off the opposing end.

Flug didn't notice any of this, because he was too busy coughing a lung up.

Something about the smoke must have been toxic, because Flug couldn't stop hacking. It must have been some sort of chemical fume. Flug stood up, knocking his chair back so hard it fell onto its back. He ran to the window and threw it open, attempting to fill the room with fresh air – maybe stick his head out there while he was at it.

Because the burning wouldn't stop.

His throat already hurt enough from being abused two days ago, apparently the Hero Serum™ or whatever hadn't fixed it up completely, and his lungs, while not bleeding, definitely didn't appreciate it either.

Fresh air flooded the room, and Flug shivered at the cold night air. He took in deep, gulping breaths, but the coughing wouldn't stop. His throat still burned, and the force of his coughing caused tears to build at the corners of his eyes. When he gripped at his throat and sunk to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest and sitting with his back to the wall, they began to drip down. The goggles stopped them from traveling all the way down, catching them inside near his eyes.

He considered his options with what comprehension he had.

It was probably poisonous. He could call poison control?

And explain why he'd inhaled poisonous gas, which including but was not limited to – stealing and lying to the police. They'd probably use this as evidence to try and pin conspiracy on him too if they really wanted to follow that route. So that was out.

The coughing got rougher as his throat got more damaged from the action. It rattled, making Flug tense and rap his arm around his knees, curling in on himself.

He could try to find an antidote?

_How?_

He could... _he could_...

Tears began to fall in earnest now. Between the coughs he made a strangled shout and ripped the goggles off his face.

He'd just given himself a lecture on being _smarter,_ not making dumb decisions. And here he'd gone and stupidly tried to open the god-forsaken _dangerous mystery device_ with a fucking knife and _poisoned himself._

He sobbed, and his breath hiccuped. The burning in his throat and lungs just wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop and here's how he went out. Damning himself with another stupid decision in an attempt to – to what? Sate his curiosity? Get back at Black Hat by using the device?

Well he'd used it, and whenever Black Hat or whoever else found him, they'd be just delighted.

He let his head fall to his knees and closed his eyes.

And waited. And coughed.

And waited.

Until the burning began to lighten up. He opened his eyes and tried taking in a breath again. It still hurt, but he choked back the cough that accompanied it.

He shot to his feet and turned back to the window, breathing in the fresh air.

It took another couple of minutes, but eventually the burning faded completely even if the pain in his throat didn't. He'd probably irritated it again or made the bruising worse. But that didn't matter because all that mattered was that Flug could breathe again. He sighed in relief, letting all his weight fall against the wall.

After a few moments of just standing there, really appreciating being alive, he turned his gaze back to the device.

Okay, strike one. Apparently whatever's inside has toxic fumes. What did we learn? Wear a mask.

He stared at it for a second, finally registering that it had snapped back shut. He looked from the device, to the knife on the floor, to the window, to the rest of the tools on the desk.

Flug nodded. He shut the window, picked up the knife, and re-positioned all the tools. He hid the device away in a drawer, picked up his phone, and headed to his bedroom.

Flug made the executive decision to try again tomorrow after a good night's sleep.

He could only take one near-death experience per try.

 

* * *

 

When Flug woke up, he was confused to find himself in a strange place, not in his bedroom. He stood up rapidly and looked around in panic. The sound of his radiator rattling away had been replaced with a cacophony of beeping, and the floor was a hard tile instead of his carpet. He spun around, desperately trying to identify just where he'd ended up.

It was only when he noticed he was wearing different clothes that it stuck him. He looked down at his outfit, taking in the long white labcoat and the rubber gloves. He reached up to touch his face, realizing he was wearing his goggles. He looked around again, re-examining the room.

He was in the lab.

Flug held out his arms in front of him. He looked at the gloves on his hands and flexed his grip. His arm wasn't broken, his throat didn't hurt, and his chest felt fine.

Flug sighed. He hadn't woken up at all.

Nightmares weren't foreign to Flug, he'd been plagued by them for the majority of his life. Nightmares, night terrors, lucid dreaming, the whole shebang. Recently, he'd always been too tired to dream, but it didn't appear like tonight was going to be one of those blessedly blank nights.

He didn't know if it was lucky or not that he was already lucid.

Flug sighed and looked around again. He was standing in front of his desk. It was the same as it had been Tuesday night. His work-in-project was still sitting in the middle, and all his tools and blueprints were still there.

The only thing was, the chair was already rolled out and turned.

Flug pursed his lips and eyed the trashcan distrustfully. He walked over cautiously, stalking it like prey, before leaning over and peering in.

“Oh for goodness sake!” He snatched the name plate out and plopped it back on the desk forcefully.

He crossed his arms (which he pulled off flawlessly now that his arm was healed) and stomped a foot indignantly.

“Sometimes, I really hate you, me,” he muttered, glancing up, as if his brain would somehow hear and get offended.

He considered what to do. Maybe he could wake himself up somehow, but that never really worked. It was apparent that his mind had decided to recreate the break-in, and apparently he'd already been swept away in this scene. Which meant the two of them would be on the way to the vault, maybe if he just stayed here he could ride out the dream until he woke up.

As if on cue, the sliding doors further into the lab slid open, startling Flug and causing him to jump. He started at the opening for a moment, before huffing in annoyance.

“Okay, _I guess!_ ” He shouted, waving his hands in the air and gesturing to the ceiling. “Sure! Why not! Sounds like a wonderful idea.”

He stamped away, through the sliding doors, and down towards the vault. The hall was empty, just like before, and when he reached the end he took a sharp right, turning on his heel and listening to the squeak as his soles twisted on the hard floor.

The dream even got the sound of his squeaky shoes right.

When he reached the last door, he hesitated and looked back over his shoulder. He didn't have much of a choice but he didn't really want to cooperate with his own nightmare. However, when he turned around he saw that the hallway behind him had disappeared. He scowled and turned back around, indignant. Flug sighed, flashed his ID to the door, and watched as it opened slowly in front of him at a creeping pace that was not only ominous but inaccurate to reality.

He frowned, impatient. Maybe he'd already be in there, and this would be one of those third-person dreams. In that case, he'd just have to watch another him get beat up instead of confronting it himself, and he guessed that was better, but that hope vanished as the view of the room finally opened in front of him. Unfortunately, another Flug was nowhere to be found.

Instead, there was Black Hat. He was pacing back and forth in front of the vault door, which oddly enough was already open. Great. Maybe he was already inside?

Flug gave one last forlorn look over his shoulder, confirming that it was indeed physically impossible for him to go back and that his mind was persistent that he go in here. He sighed and walked into the room, doors closing behind him with a condemning _swish,_ much faster than they'd opened. Flug debated if it was acceptable to call a set of sliding doors in his own dream a jerk.

Black Hat looked up at the noise of the doors closing. His gaze locking on Flug, completely blank for a second, blinking slowly.

Flug tensed and grimaced, waiting for a violent reaction. _Thanks nightmares._

However, instead of reacting Black Hat just settled into a scowl and scoffed. He lifted one of his hands and made a dismissive gesture towards Flug, before looking back down at the ground and continuing to pace, seemingly ignoring Flug.

Flug waited a second more, but when Black Hat just continued to walk back and forth he frowned in confusion. Black Hat's dress shoes clicking on the floor was the only noise echoing throughout the large room. The tension didn't leave Flug's body, but it was replaced with a suspicious anticipation instead of terror. He tilted his head to the side and leaned forward slightly, watching as Black Hat crossed his hands behind his back and just... paced.

 _Ookay_. Was this not a nightmare then? Course, there were worse things than reliving an encounter he'd survived.

Flug was still suspicious, but he decided to test the waters of this mindscape.

“Come 'round here often?” He tried. He leaned back against the door, pulling one foot up to rest against the door frame and support his weight, and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He was trying for casual, but with the anxious aura he was still emitting it only half-landed. Nervous casual.

Black Hat quickly spun around to look back at Flug, visible eye widening in shock. Flug couldn't imagine why though. He looked at Flug a second, seeming genuinely surprised, before scowling again. He made a dismissive noise and made another gesture at Flug, waving his hand a little more sharply this time.

Flug just raised an eyebrow, still leaning against the door. He did a quick check to either side of him, over his shoulders, there was nothing there. He looked back at Black Hat, who was still looking at him. Flug tapped on his own chest in a 'Me?' motion, to which Black Hat's response was a glare. He reached up and did a little wave, smile twitching at his lips, to which Black Hat actually snarled.

A small smirk crossed Flug's lips. The lack of a coherent reaction from Black Hat and reminder that was a dream – a rather peculiar dream but one in which he seemed lucid enough – goaded him on. He lifted up his goggles up to his hair to get a better look at the villain, who still stood frozen at the other end of the room, and who had yet to speak.

“I'm sorry, I remember Black Hat being a little more verbal than that,” he said, recrossing his arms over his chest.

“I'm _sorry?_ ” Black Hat asked. He physically reeled back, pulling a hand to his chest in a rather over-dramatic reaction that made Flug smile.

“Just more verbose. You know, full of himself – a real megalomaniac vibe.” He smirked, waving a hand through the air flippantly and tilting his head.

Black Hat stared at him for a second, incredulous. He hadn't moved from his spot, but his hand slowly lowered and he stared at Flug as though examining him, squinting slightly.

“I literally called him vain and he agreed, like didn't even try to hide it, real egotistical. I don't think there's anything that guy likes more than his own voice.” Flug shrugged dismissively, but grinned as the cold, calculating look Black Hat was giving him faltered and fell back into angry.

He grinned as Black Hat fumed, getting worked back up. Maybe lucid dreaming was good for something; Flug should get a job aggravating people who wanted to kill him, he'd be really good at it.

“ _Fine_ ,” Black Hat spat through gritted teeth. He waved his hand through the air, rolling his wrist in a circular motion from which black smoke emitted. It coalesced to a solid, and out of thin air appeared the ray gun from the break-in. All humor quickly drained from Flug as Black Hat examined it for a second casually, before aiming it directly at Flug's chest and pulling back the safety. “A reenactment then, maybe _that's_ what I need.”

Flug's eyes widened as the familiar beam of light rocketed towards him, sparking and lighting up the room with a bright, cool light. He shouted and held up his hands in front of his face defensively and flinched backwards. His position against the wall had him pinned, and he was reminded of how he'd been slammed into the wall before.

Nothing happened though. Instead, he watched as the lightning struck the air inches in front of his hands and dispersed, but with no knock-back. It just branched in front of him, striking the wall to either side of him but sparing the air around him, as though redirected down the path of least resistance.

He lowered his hands slightly and looked at Black Hat through them. The villain looked just as confused as Flug felt. He looked down at the gun, before sighing heavily, rolling his eyes, and pinning Flug with his gaze again.

“I suppose that's right,” Black Hat scoffed, exasperated. He slapped his face and waved his hand again, causing the gun to evaporate to smoke and dissipate into the air.

Black Hat moved, walking towards the other side of the room where Flug stood and reaching out with the obvious intention of grabbing him like he had before.

A thrill of panic ran through Flug. He looked around, but there was nothing around him to fight back with. He didn't have anything from the vault like before, and Black Hat was between him and the vault door. He had nothing to –

Oh wait, right. Dream.

He concentrated, holding out his hand. He thought hard about the ray gun Black Hat had just disappeared, and broke into a smile as the air around his hand grew foggy, and then heavy. The weight of an object settled into his hand, and true enough, he watched as the gun came into existence in the palm of his hand. He wrapped his fingers around it and brought it up, aiming it steadily at the center of Black Hat's chest.

Black Hat froze in place, mid-step. His anger dropped immediately to be replaced with shock. His mouth fell open slightly and he actually tilted his head in confusion, looking at Flug's hands and the gun.

Flug giggled, manic energy overcoming him. He bounced slightly, grinning widely, and pulled back the safety with a wild look in his eyes.

“Oh this is so ironic,” he said gleefully. He pulled the trigger, watching as the beam of light shot from his hands and rocketed towards Black Hat. Maybe he'd finally see what it did.

Black Hat dodged it though. His body dematerialized and blurred with the speed of his movement, before reforming safely to the left of the blast. His gaze followed the electricity rocketing past him and he gaped, incredulously watching where the shot struck the door to the vault, lighting up the room in a bright white-blue blast with a _crack_ , before turning back to Flug.

“Wait...” The look of confusion changed as Black Hat's eye narrowed. He waved his hand again, making a pulling motion.

Flug felt something tugging on the gun in his grip, like an invisible force. The edges of the gun fizzled, smoking and blurring. He fought back against it by physically pulling the gun to his chest, hiding it protectively in his grasp.

Black Hat froze, expression blank and unreadable.

“Uhm,” Flug said. A budding sense of horror hit him. “Is this – this isn't...”

Black Hat's expression changed suddenly, smile cutting across his cheeks and eye lighting up in realization. He straightened and spread his arms in greeting.

“You're... not...”

“Oh I _see!_ ” Black Hat clapped his hands together. “Doctor! What a coincidence!”

“Oh no,” Flug muttered. Absolutely any humor left was gone now, replaced with a combination of fear and immediate regret.

That couldn't actually be him, could it?

“And I've been so rude!” Black Hat exclaimed, marching towards Flug. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

He made a grab for Flug, during which Flug noticed that despite his 'friendly' demeanor his hands had already sharpened to claws and he seemed somewhat distorted. Flug scrambled to the side just in time and darted away. In desperation, he aimed the gun at Black Hat again and fired.

However this time, instead of dodging Black Hat just raised one hand and made a flicking motion. It brushed the electricity away as though it were nothing but a fly, and it struck harmlessly on the wall behind him.

“Nope, nope, nope, nope, _nope,_ ” Flug rambled, running to the other side of the room.

“What a surprise!” Black Hat was elated, following Flug at a leisurely pace. “I thought I'd have to track you down, yet here you are.”

“ _Noope._ ” Flug couldn't really come up with anything more coherent as he ran towards the vault. When he climbed through the door and looked in, it was empty. It was as though the inside of the vault didn't exist. It was replaced with a much smaller, completely open square room. It didn't even look like the vault, nothing like it in fact, even the proportions of the room were off.

“Oh _great!_ ” Flug shouted, clawing at his face.

“I knew you did a little _swap,_ absolutely ruined my day.” Black Hat waved his hand and the vault door slammed shut in Flug's face, causing him to backpedal in alarm and trip backwards. “But you've been meddling! I didn't expect that. How _naughty!_ ”

“This is ridiculous. I'm quitting science. I need, like, a priest, or an exorcist or something,” Flug shouted at the chuckling Black Hat as he caught himself. He spun around and fired again, but again Black Hat simply lifted a hand and made a motion with his fingers, brushing it away.

“There are some things science can't explain, dear doctor,” Black Hat said. He clapped his hands and tapped his fingers together, still slowly approaching Flug. A thought must of struck him, because his eye lit up suddenly and his grin widened, showing off all of his razor sharp teeth. He waved a hand in the air and summoned a cane from thin air, coalescing from the same smoke as the gun had earlier. Flug didn't recognize it from their first encounter, which meant it was new, which had so many concerning connotations.

“Absolutely not!” Flug dropped the gun, which exploded into thin air when it hit the ground, and ran to the terminal. His eyes searched across it for a second, nothing on the screen was accurate to what it should have been in the lab. Still, he crossed his fingers and hoped as he smashed his hand on the alarm.

Only nothing happened. The lights didn't change and no sirens sounded. The room remained completely the same.

Flug brought his hands to claw at his face, making a small desperate sound. His breath quickened and he spun back around rapidly to face Black Hat.

“How about we start over?” He asked, shooting the approaching villain a nervous smile and holding out his hands in a placating motion. “I think we may have started off on the wrong foot, what if – ah!”

He darted to the side again, dodging as Black Hat struck out at him with with the cane, swinging it like a baseball bat. It barely missed his head as he dove. He scrambled backwards and away again, holding his hands up in front of him.

“Okay, this seems familiar,” he said. Was Black Hat just regular murderous or super pissed off murderous?

“Indeed it _does._ ” Black Hat grinned. His eye flashed red and he adjusted his grip on the cane to take another swing at Flug. Okay, super pissed off.

“A-and last time – ”

Flug yelped as he saw the cane raise again, and come hurtling down towards his head. He didn't have time to dodge, so raised his arms to block it and tensed. He waited for the cane to come down and break _both_ his arms this time.

Except the same force from earlier reappeared, blocking Black Hat's cane a few inches from his arms. The cane rebounded slightly, causing Black Hat to take a step back. He growled and tried to hit Flug again, not rebounding but apparently straining against some force as he leaned forward into the motion.

“ _This is starting to get really annoying!_ ” Black Hat shouted, smile dropping and rage returning. He raised the cane back and brought in down again. When it stopped again, he growled, bared his teeth, and bashed it against the barrier again. And again. And again. Each time he struck with increasing intensity and ferociousness. If it had actually be making contact with Flug, it would have been reducing him to a pulp.

“Oh _seriously?!_ ” By the fifth swing, Black Hat was throwing his whole weight into the motion to no avail.

Flug stared in amazement, frozen to the spot.

“And _last time_ ,” Flug continued, holding his hands to his chest. He still flinched each time the cane froze a few inches in front of him out of reflex, wincing as he heard each strike made contact. Black Hat readjusted his grip on the cane with both hands directly over his head, using his whole force to swing directly down. _Thunk_. Flug's eye twitched and he flinched. “ _Last time_ you lost. And- and this obviously isn't working. So you might as well stop trying.”

Black Hat froze, mid-drawback. He locked eyes with Flug.

“Is that really what you think?” He asked, voice cold and calm.

Flug clenched his fists and backed up out of range, concerned by the sudden change in demeanor.

“Well – “

“Oh doctor...” Black Hat suddenly smiled again, mood whip-lashing to the other extreme. He pulled the cane back and held it like normal, letting the end fall to the floor with a dainty _click_. “I think you might be in over your head.”

“I – “

Black Hat closed his eyes and shook his head. He waved a finger, tutting mockingly. “Poor, poor, doctor. Thinks he _won?_ Thinks he's _safe?_ ”

Flug swallowed thickly. He tried to move to re-position himself so he was away from the wall, but Black Hat struck out suddenly despite his eyes being closed. His cane whipped out and struck to the right of Flug, impacting on the air and forcing Flug to scramble the opposite way. His eye opened again slowly, and he grinned confidently.

He shifted the cane, this time using the end and holding it out like a rapier instead of a club. He circled around and advanced, steadily applying pressure against the air and pushing Flug backwards. He tried to move away, but soon enough Black Hat had backed him into a corner _again,_ holding out the cane triumphantly.

“Let me ask you something,” Black Hat said, leaning forward over the cane. “You have _no idea_ what you're dealing with, do you?”

A moment of silence passed, Flug tried to dart to the side past Black Hat, but he just moved the cane and matched Flug's movements.

His eye lit up and grin widened, which Flug hated. He twirled the cane in a small circle in the air, and the tip of the cane sharpened to a point. Flug swore that he saw it glint menacingly before Black Hat reapplied the pressure and pressed harder against the air in front of Flug, really closing him in.

“Is that a rhetorical question?” Flug asked, resigned. There wasn't much else he could do.

“No, I want to know, _really,_ ” Black Hat grabbed his end of the cane with both hands now, and Flug gasped in panic as he saw the blade move a fraction of an inch further towards him. “What do _you_ think?”

Flug panicked. Black Hat leaned further on the blade and it inched closer to Flug's chest. He reached out and grabbed a hold around the cane on his side, desperately trying to keep it away from its course towards his heart and push it back. Black Hat seemed delighted at this, his breath hitched in delight, and leaned his whole weight against the cane.

Flug fumbled for the right words, breath catching as he watched the point draw nearer.

“I – I think you – I think you're inhuman – “

“ _Great observation doctor!_ ” Black Hat's gaze wasn't on his face, it was pinpoint focused at where the point ended. He broke into an open-mouthed smile and drew a breath in anticipation as the blade brushed Flug's lab coat. The sound of the fabric tearing seemed unnaturally loud in the charged air.

“-but you're not invincible, you can't be, so it's not hopeless,” he finished. He'd glare defiantly at Black Hat, but his gaze too was locked on the blade as he struggled to halt it to no avail.

“How do you know that?” Black Hat suddenly looked back up at Flug's face, catching the others attention.

Flug swallowed. He didn't know, not really. But there had to be some way to win.

“And even if you're right,” Black Hat said slowly. Flug gasped as he felt the blade cut through his shirt and touch his skin. Black Hat perked up at the sound and his voice quickened, “You can't win. Not in your _own_ lab, and _certainly_ not here. And unlike last time, nobody's coming to help you.”

Black Hat seemed genuinely amused by this, biting his lip in delight and bouncing slightly on his heels. He looked at Flug's face one last time, soaking in his expression, before looking down at where the blade was seconds away from piercing Flug's chest and ripping through his flesh.

Flug's face it up as a thought struck him.

It _was_ just like last time. If he couldn't win against Black Hat, he just had to survive. And yes, he'd survived last time because he had help, but mostly because he'd been removed from the situation – removed from Black Hat's presence. So, like last time, he just had to remove himself from the situation.

“Well...” he muttered. It was hard to concentrate with the blade dug into the top layer of his skin. He grit his teeth, grimacing, and closed his eyes as he removed one hand from its grip on the cane. His breath caught and he whimpered as the blade suddenly dug into his chest, embedding itself in skin and digging into muscle. Black Hat made a small 'ah!' sound in glee, looking back up.

“Ooh, now what are we doing?” He asked enthusiastically.

Flug didn't answer, just attempted to get his thoughts together in some coherent fashion.

“ _Please,_ ” he whispered. His breath quickened, eyes still closed tight, as he felt a stirring of the air near his fingers where he had his hand held out.

“ _Ohh, pleading won't –_ “

Flug opened his eyes suddenly as he felt a weight settle in his hand. In one swift motion, he brought the ray gun up to his temple and pulled the safety.

He had just enough time to catch Black Hat's look of amusement change to one of confusion.

“Wait what – “

Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, and everything exploded in a flash of light and heat.

 

* * *

 

Flug sat up straight in his bed, gasping.

He felt a moment of pure relief and ecstasy. He moved to throw his arms up in triumph, before his nerves suddenly caught up with him and he was _on fire._

He doubled over, grabbing at his head and shouting. It felt as though someone had bashed it in, scrambled up his brains. Or... gotten shot. Which was... accurate. He was covered in a cold sweat and was shaking furiously. His whole body hurt, and he had a migraine. He half-crawled, half-rolled out of bed, flopping off the side and hitting the ground hard.

He managed to get to all fours and scramble to the bathroom, collapsing over the toilet and emptying his stomach of what was left of last night's dinner. He heaved, only causing his head to pound more and his throat to burn. He trembled as he hovered.

When he finally recovered, migraine slowly fading, he moaned and leaned back, sinking down the wall to the floor.

“That's just unfair,” he muttered to himself, wiping at his face. He brushed his fingers through his bangs, which were sticking to his forehead with sweat, pushing them back and wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand. He dropped his hand and sat there, staring at the door back to his bedroom.

He rested his head back against the wall and thought.

He'd been plagued with night terrors since he was a kid, nightmares and the like were no stranger to him, and he knew the power of suggestion on the brain. He'd had a bad dream about Black Hat, where he'd shot himself in the head, so his brain convinced him his head hurt, right?

Flug licked his lips. One way to find out.

He reached down to pull up his night shirt, searching his chest for marks. There were no open wounds or marks that he could see, but for some reason it didn't really make him feel any better. He dropped his shirt back down and sighed.

Maybe it had just been a nightmare.

Inhumans may be powerful, abnormally so, called demons and monsters throughout history, but they weren't _actually_ magic, right?

Maybe whatever chemical fumes he'd inhaled had gotten him high or something. He chuckled at that thought, and made a mental note to never smoke _anything ever._ Not that his lungs could take it anyway, what with the beating they'd been getting this week.

Flug finally got to his feet, slowly. He wobbled for a second, before steadying himself and beginning to head out of the room.

He skittered to a halt as the mirror passed by the corner of his eye.

He turned quickly, eyes wide, searching the reflection.

It was just him. The bags under his eyes looked even worse, like he hadn't slept at all, but that was all. Just Flug, alone, in his bathroom.

He furrowed his brow in concern, tilting his head around and glancing over his shoulder at his shower behind him.

Nothing.

With some hesitation, he pulled back from the mirror. He could have sworn he saw something. He was getting even more paranoid than normal.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair again, trying to tame it into place. He wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. So he returned to his bedroom, eyeing the bed with suspicion and skirting around it to his nightstand. He scooped up his phone and checked the time.

4:00 am.

He shrugged. Time to start the day.

Flug walked back out to his entry room, grabbing a bottle of water and snack bar from his kitchenette, before settling back down into his desk chair. He took a drink, soothing his throat and settling his stomach. He'd have made some coffee, but it probably wasn't good for his poor constitution right now.

His eyes raked over the tools still sitting on his desk, and glanced to the drawer where the device lay. He bit his lip and made a decision.

Flug gathered up the spare parts he had brought with him, grabbing a small chip from an obsolete invention he'd been working on before Coeus had axed the idea and his goggles. He pulled them back into place, took one last chug of the water, before tossing it in the trash and getting to work.

Like it always did when he worked, time began to blur by. The sun slowly rose, shedding light onto his desk through the widow. He worked ceaselessly on the small chip until he was satisfied

He sat back up, twisting the chip around in his hand. He stood up, grabbing the chip and trigger and bringing it into the other room, making sure to leave his phone behind.

When he got to his bedroom, he dug through his closet. He made a sound of triumph and retreated, pulling out an old digital alarm clock. He walked over, plugging it into the wall and watching as large red numbers began to flash on the screen. He let it sit for a minute, and even set the right time, before carefully attaching the small chip to the back of the clock.

He crossed his fingers and pushed the remote trigger.

Flug watched as the clock actually sparked, short circuiting. Smoke floated out from the back of the clock where the wire connected to the machine. He smiled as the numbers on the screen flickered frantically, as though struggling to recover, before they blinked out and the clock was rendered useless.

“Good job killer,” he said fondly, plucking the chip back off the clock. He examined it one last time, impressed, before returning to his desk in the other room. He opened the drawer, pulling out the device, and affixing the chip to the sphere, tarnishing its perfect surface.

“Just in case.”

 

* * *

 

Flug spent the rest of the morning messing around with the rest of his parts, examining all the blueprints he'd grabbed.

He spent several hours starting to assemble a new machine from spare parts, putting off the experiment. He didn't have the blueprints for the machine he had in mind, but he'd helped assemble it in the first place and was jotting down diagrams and notes he remembered as he worked.

When lunch finally rolled around, he'd made good progress, even if he was nowhere near done. He was forced to stop as his body reminded him that, as a human, yes he needed food.

When you were self-employed, you set your own hours, so Flug guessed now he worked 24/7. Quitting (whenever he finally informed his work) had probably increased his workload in the end.

He sighed, pushing back from the desk and sitting up. Maybe he'd go out for lunch. His arm didn't hurt at all today, maybe he'd try going it without the sling. And some fresh air would do him some good too.

The only problem was, Flug felt uncomfortable leaving the safety of his home. He bit his lip and tapped nervously on the surface of his desk.

Then his eyes caught the list he'd pinned to the backboard of his desk. Flug's eyes raked down the numbers and names, landing on the last name on the list and lingering there.

It was kind of manipulative wasn't it? Using a hero as protection?

He justified it by deciding he'd pay for lunch.

Flug stood up, plucking the list off the back of his desk. He shuffled, holding the paper with his arm as he dug his phone from his pocket. He read off the number, tapping it in, and waited as it rang.

Only after it clicked, picking up, did Flug consider if it was normal to just call up heroes – whether or not they requested it. What if it was like, a work phone? Was that like 911?

“Hello?” A high voice chirped.

“Uhm.” Flug was really bad at phone calls. He fumbled.

The voice on the other side chuckled slightly, and although it was cliché he couldn't help but be reminded of jingle-bells at the sound of it.

“Sorry,” he muttered, grimacing. “Is this-” his eyes darted back to the paper, “-Laverna?”

“That depends on who this is,” she said. Flug heard movement in the background.

“Sh- sorry,” Flug said, “This is Dr. Flug. Dr. Reseda told me that you wanted to speak to me? I'm sorry for taking so long to get back to you. She said you saved me?”

“ _Oh!_ ” The woman shouted, and Flug heard a _thunk_ on the other end of the phone. He pulled it back away from his face and eyed it warily, before she spoke up again. “The scientist from the lab? I'm so glad you're okay! And no, don't worry about it, like I said I'm just glad to hear you're okay.”

“Okay,” Flug replied, “Well I just wanted to, uh, say thank you – for saving me that is. The doctor said you were the one to get me to the hospital, so thank you. Seriously.”

“It's my job!” She chirped. “I was just...”

She trailed off, and Flug waited. When she didn't continue, he broke the silence.

“Ah, well like I said I'm really grateful. I kind of wanted to say thank you in person – if that's okay that is.”

“You don't have to,” she said, voice suddenly low and embarrassed. “It was – Like I said it's my job, don't worry.”

Okay, honesty was the best policy. (Most of the time.)

“I was actually hoping you were free to meet and get lunch or something, I'll pay. I'm a little nervous going out,” he said, crossing his fingers.

“Oh, _oh,_ ” she said. “Oh well okay then that's fine. Getting involved with supers can mess with people, I'm sorry I didn't think of that. I can meet you somewhere plain-clothed if it'll make you feel better. Less conspicuous.”

“Of course,” Flug breathed out in relief. “That sounds wonderful. Can't wait to see you.”

She chuckled on the other end of the line, and Flug heard rustling.

“Just tell me where.”

They decided to meet at the nearest diner to Flug's apartment. Flug sat in a corner table, waiting. His eyes darted around

Soon enough, a woman walked into the building. When she spotted Flug, she smiled so hard her eyes crinkled at the corners and waved enthusiastically. She was tiny, must have been only a couple inches over five feet, and was wearing a black halter top and jeans. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, some strands falling into her face. It was an unnatural white, but not bleached out. It looked like the snow white that came with extraordinary age. Except she looked in her twenties, so unless she was deceptively youthful looking it must have been fake.

“Doctor Flug?” She asked, approaching the table. Her face looked flush, as though she'd run over. Flug felt guilty, hoping he hadn't distracted her from something important.

“In the person,” he answered. She sat down opposite him, and he noticed the way she winced slightly as she settled into her seat, rubbing at her shoulder. “Hope you didn't strain yourself getting here.”

“Oh not at all, I just came from the gym is all,” she explained, immediately straightening up and brushing off whatever uncomfortableness she'd been feeling. “But it's nice to meet you,” she said, before lowering her voice conspiratorially, leaning in, and continuing, “conscious this time.”

He laughed nervously at rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I guess I didn't make such a good first impression, huh?”

“Are you kidding? It wasn't _your_ fault.” She made a concerned expression, raking over him with her eyes which made him fidget. “How _are_ you doing?”

“I'm... good, good enough,” he replied, before shifting the attention back over to her. “Thanks to you of course.”

“Well,” she smiled and averted her eyes, embarrassed. She rubbed at the back of her neck and shrugged. “It's my job, excreta, excreta.”

It was odd for a hero to be humble, usually supers and inhumans were super full of themselves. Example A: Black Hat. Maybe she was a martyr-type like the doctor had suggested, they did exist... but they didn't usually last long.

“Maybe reporting to the lab was, but not – the doctor at the hospital said you paid for my bills.” Maybe it wasn't polite to cut to the chase like that, but Flug couldn't help it. He looked at her, examining her face. “I can't thank you enough, but can I ask why?”

She looked surprised at the question. She pursed her lips and looked down at her hands and fidgeted, which only increased Flug's curiosity.

“It'd probably sound better if I just said it was the least I could do,” she said, glancing up at Flug, “but, well...”

That too, piqued Flug's curiosity. If it wasn't out of the goodwill of her heart that would mean she might have some ulterior motive, and Flug really wasn't feeling up to dealing with people with ulterior motives, even if they were heroes. She looked to the side again, avoiding eye-contact, and reached up unconsciously to rub at her necklace, a single white feather hanging off a braided leather strap. Probably a swan's feather.

“To be honest, seeing you reminded me of someone else. Which probably sounds bad, but – Well it reminded me of a time I couldn't save someone,” she said finally, waving her hands sharply through the air as if axing the topic.

She looked back down, face dropping.

Flug's eyes widened. Well that had been a quick jump to tragic backstory. He wasn't sure how to handle that, even if he had asked. He hardly knew her, though he supposed she had saved his life.

“Sorry, I don't mean to – “ She began, looking suddenly uncomfortable, as if realizing she'd over-shared.

“No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.” Flug waved his hand frantically, as if too brush away the topic despite his still simmering curiosity. “You don't have to talk about it if you don't want.”

She looked back up, smiling slightly and nodding. With that, it looked like it was closed, much to Flug's dissatisfaction. He wanted to press further, get a solid answer, but he was already pushing the boundaries of polite and also, he wasn't sure he wanted to tread into tragic backstory territory or look a gift horse in the mouth, so he let it pass.

“Let's get some food,” she said. “You're still paying right?” She teased.

She turned and waved down a server. When she turned her back to him, Flug noted that she had two large wings intricately tattooed onto her back. They stretched across her shoulders, spread open in flight. They were monochromatic, solely in black, but they were so intricate that the gray-scale feathers looked so realistic, as if they'd be downy soft to the touch. He wanted to make a comment, but he wasn't sure what tattoo etiquette was, so he stayed quiet as she turned back around.

“Of course,” he responded at last, “unless you have some bills you need paid off?”

“No, at least not hospital bills,” she responded, watching the waiter come over, “don't need them.”

They ordered, and a silence settled between them once the waiter left. Flug could never tell when a silence was comfortable or not, so he assumed that it needed to be broken. He thought for a moment before speaking up.

“So... super-strength?” He tried, raising an eyebrow and shrugging.

She looked over from where her gaze had been wandering, feigned a gasp and held a hand to her chest. “Don't you know it's improper to ask about a woman's superpowers?”

He chuckled, relaxing as the air lightened from the previous topic. “Invisibility?”

“Insistent I see, but wrong.” She grinned and tilted her head.

“Okay... flight?” He tried, shrugging again.

She looked genuinely surprised at that, raising her eyebrows. “No, but what makes you say that?”

“Oh, the uh, the bird wings,” he gestured at her. “I saw your tattoo and I figured you've got an avian theme going on so I thought... Like a swan thing?” He shrugged.

“ _Oh!_ Oh no, they're angel wings,” she replied, smiling.

A moment of silence passed as Flug stared at her completely expressionless.

Her smile faltered as the silence stretched on and she looked at him, confused. “Uhm, Flug?”

“Please,” he said, voice completely flat, deadpan, “don't tell me you're actually an angel.”

She stared a moment, before breaking out into laughter, the same bell-like laughter from earlier only full-out now. She waved her hands in the air in delight before clutching at her sides.

“What do you have against angels?” She asked, desperately catching her breath between laughs.

“Please tell me you're joking.” Flug wasn't amused.

“I could be your guardian angel! You shouldn't insult my people!”

“ _Please._ ”

“Okay, okay, fine,” she gasped, catching her breath. “No, I'm not _actually_ an angel. Why?”

“I've dealt with enough supernatural stuff this week,” Flug replied feeling somewhat relieved. He rested his cheek in his hand. “And I'd rather not deal with something else ' _magic'_.”

“Well congratulations because this angel's entirely man-made, no magic,” she said.

“Didn't come from heaven?” Flug asked, teasing.

“More like a lab,” she shot back.

“Really? Like a super-soldier program?” Those supers almost always ended up in government enforcement, he wondered how she ended up freelancing. Freelance heroes always risked the wrath of both villains and the law.

“Lazarus. You were right with super-strength. I've got that, well a little bit anyway, and super fast healing. I was a really sick kid, and the Lazarus labs saved me. Gave me my powers, so here I am.” She gestured vaguely.

Flug's eyes widened in recognition at the name.

“So you're... you were...” He regretted starting as soon as the words left his mouth and he grimaced.

“Terminal. Legally dead I'm pretty sure, seeing as they gave me a new birthday when I woke up. Which was kind of morbid in retrospect,” she squinted, glancing up, but shrugged, “oh well.”

“Wow,” Flug relied, awed.

“You'd be surprised at the wonders of science.” She paused before she laughed and shook her head. “Actually you wouldn't, I'm sure you've pulled off some pretty amazing things!”

“Not like that. Plus I'm more of a inventor anyway,” he said. “But either way, that's _amazing_.”

She blushed and shrugged again. “It's why I have the angel wings, some of the scientists called me their angel.” She shrugged. “Which was better than the ones that called me inhuman and soulless.”

Flug looked at her in concern, unsure how to handle that comment. He opened his mouth to say something before she cut in and backpedaled hard.

“Sorry, overshared again,” she said, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Also promise I'm not inhuman, just a plain old superhuman. But that's enough about me!” She clapped her hands together and grinned nervously, eager to change the subject. “How about you?”

“Oh, well, I mean I'm just a cog in the machine, not nearly that interesting,” he said, happy for the quick change in topic.

“I disagree! I mean, you went against Black Hat and made it out of there!” She exclaimed, leaning forward, bright-eyed.

Flug paled, grimacing. Oh that's right, he'd forgotten about Black Hat for a moment, how silly of him. But being reminded of him reminded him of his nightmare, and the device hidden away in his apartment, and everything else that he was sure this hero would persecute him for if she knew.

In all, a real damper on his mood.

“Oh you know him too?” He muttered, averting his eyes.

She nodded, and leaned forward to rest her chin in her hand.

“Yeah, he's nasty. I've heard some bad stories,” she said, frowning. “I was surprised when he ran off, I was expecting to put my super-healing to the test.”

“Well you must have scared him off,” Flug said, trying to lighten the mood again.

“Oh _I'm sure_ ,” she giggled. “I'm just terrifying.”

Their food arrived, cutting off the conversation and Flug realized just how hungry he'd been. He dug into his food with enthusiasm and Laverna followed. They ate in silence.

When they finished, Flug did as promised and paid the bill.

“I can walk you home if you want,” Laverna offered as they left the diner.

“That'd be _great_ ,” Flug replied, relieved.

His nightmare last night had reminded him just how outmatched he was – whether it had been real or not was inconsequential, it was a much needed reminder. If he could keep the hero around, he'd be safer. Relatively at least.

Of course, he couldn't let her find the device. Which was a whole 'nother problem, but for now the protection gave him some comfort.

“I can give you some pointers too,” she said as they walked down the block. “Self-defense tips, if that makes you feel better.”

Flug lit up. It probably wouldn't be that much help, and he didn't know when he'd find time for it, but just the idea helped settle his nerves. “Yeah, that would be wonderful.”

“Just text me and we'll figure it out,” she replied cheerfully. The idea of texting a hero was still weird to Flug, but he guessed they were normal people too, some of the time.

“If you ever need anything, just call me,” she continued. “The police never take it seriously enough when non-supers get involved in this kind of thing.”

“Hey, I've got superpowers! I've got incredible tenacity and the power to not get murdered,” he said, grinning and kicking at the ground.

Laverna laughed, shaking her head. “Even so, better not put it to the test. I can't really be on call all the time, I might be preoccupied, but if I'm not at another scene I'll put you at the top of my list.”

“That's a relief,” Flug replied. “And – please don't think I'm only saying thank you because of that.”

“You only like me for my superpowers,” she sighed, teasing. But then her eyes lit up. “Maybe I could even get a job at Coeus, it'd be _technically_ more legal and I'd do a better job than your current security apparently.”

She smiled hopefully at Flug, which caused his heart to sink as he realized he had to disappoint her.

“Oh,” he said slowly, “I was... I don't think I'm returning to Coeus actually.”

Some look passed through Laverna's eye, unreadable, before her expression dropped and she frowned. She looked down and quieted.

“Oh, okay,” she said quietly.

Flug was surprised at the intensity of her sudden disappointment. He panicked, searching for a way to placate her. “I mean, I can put in a good word for you though!”

They stopped, finally reaching the entrance to Flug's apartment building. Laverna didn't say anything for a second, still looking down and scraping her foot against the ground.

“I'm sorry-”

She looked back up suddenly and smiled again, shrugging off the topic.

“No, don't worry about it. Can take the girl out of the lab, but can't take the lab out of the girl I guess. I'll be fine, really, it was just a thought,” she said, standing up straight and folding her arms behind her back.

“If you're sure,” Flug said, frowning. Something still felt wrong.

“Positive,” she responded. “Let me know if you need anything else, hope you feel better.”

“Okay,” he said. He reached for the door handle.

“By the way,” Laverna cut in, making him pause. “Is your arm still broken?”

He looked back down at the cast, before raising his gaze slowly and giving her an incredulous look. “Well... _yeah_.”

She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips. She scanned over Flug again in a way that made him shift his weight from foot to foot, before nodding.

“Well give it another day maybe,” she said, smiling.

Flug looked at her incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

“Another... _day_?”

“That should do it,” she replied, nodding enthusiastically.

“...okay, if you say so. You know the medicine I suppose,” he said, shrugging.

“And like I said, call me if you need your guardian angel,” she said, mischievous smile creeping across her face.

“ _Don't,_ ” Flug groaned, turning and pinning her with a look.

She giggled and shrugged. “See you around then, but hopefully not _too_ much.”

“See you around,” he responded. He watched as she turned, waving. She walked away, giving Flug one last look at the tattoo stretching over her shoulders. He watched her go, half-expecting the wings on her back to spring to life and carry her away. He was relieved when they didn't, and she simply disappeared around the corner.

He scoffed, _“Angels.”_

Next they'd be telling him Black Hat was actually the dev –

Okay, never mind, bad thought, thought dismissed, moving on.

Flug turned back to the door and pushed it open, heading inside.

 

* * *

 

Flug spent the rest of the day late into the night working on his invention. It took nonstop work the rest of the day to complete it. Luckily, he remembered most of the schematics.

And now, instead of having to hand it over to the execs, he was free to actually use his own work. Personal payback for his own work? What a concept.

He grinned when he screwed the last screw into place, sealing shut the panel. He leaned back, pulling the goggles up off his eyes and admiring the small box in front of him. He tested it, placing it in the middle of the floor of his living room and backing off. He watched it sit there for a second, before turning suddenly. He grabbed one of the knives off his desk and hurled it at the box at top speed.

It smacked into the air in front of the box, sparking at the contact, and knocking the box back a couple inches.

“ _Whew!_ ” Flug shouted, throwing his one hand up into the air. He dove for the box, scooping it up and hugging it to his chest.

It still only worked on projectiles, detecting energy and objects moving at high speeds, but it was better than nothing.

He clipped it to the band on his pants and sighed. He reached up and grabbed the goggles off his head and tossing them back unto the desk.

Two inventions down, one to go.

Two if he counted figuring out the device. But he had to be more prepared. Baby steps.

He sat down in his recliner, kicking his feet up and taking a break. He should probably go to sleep, but last night had left him with an even stronger aversion to the concept than normal. So instead, he planned out his next course of action.

If he spent all the next day working, he could whip up another invention, a weapon (“just in case” as he kept telling himself). He'd grab some masks as well. Then, he could get back to work investigating the device.

But he still needed more information. Even if he figured out what it was supposed to do, it wouldn't tell him why Black Hat wanted it.

His new shield, the idea of a weapon, and the reassurance of having a superhero on speed-dial gave him a renewed bravery.

He vaguely knew places where to get some information. And if Laverna was right and his arm was better tomorrow...

Flug tapped unconsciously against the box on his waist.

He had an idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, because I'm a shameless self-promoer, my tumblr is jadetigress.tumblr.com and I post updates and ideas there. Plus I love interacting with you all, and take requests (I'm very eager to please haha)
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you think!


	4. A Matter of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flug makes a new acquaintance and some new discoveries.  
> (Or rather, runs into a bunch of new complications.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew boy!! I can't believe this fic has gotten as popular as it has! Thank you all so much for each and every one of your comments and kudos on this fic, and to everyone who talks to me over on my tumblr!  
> *vibrates in anticipation because holy fuck mom this fic almost has 700 kudos*
> 
> Several people have drawn fanart and made some Quality Content for this fic, which I just cannot express enough how happy that makes me and how amazing it all is!! Below are the links to art related to this fic (and if you made some and I forgot to put it here let me know! Because it took me 5ever to update and I APOLOGIZE)  
> (Most of the art is Flug because of course, but some lovely people also drew Laverna and boi I d i e)
> 
> Links:  
> https://villain-ouz.tumblr.com/post/161590812311/chaos1079-this-is-some-fan-art-for-a-really  
> https://villain-ouz.tumblr.com/post/161723988066/bumbledipshit-like-dont-watch-the-show-but-hes  
> https://villain-ouz.tumblr.com/post/161685030491/angelicneonanime-art-listen-villain-ouz-i-love  
> https://villain-ouz.tumblr.com/post/161832930186/demcakes-dudes-i-love-overtime-by-villain-ouz-so  
> (The Laverna ones aren't necessarily OT relayed (in fact they're all about that good gay shit) but I love them and so here they are)  
> https://villain-ouz.tumblr.com/post/162052986346/lallorona04-yes-i-do-think-its-a-wonderful-idea  
> https://villain-ouz.tumblr.com/post/162095688881/lucivetta-blanca-villain-ouz-has-written-my
> 
> (Like,, seriously if you create anything and tag me and let me know I WILL freak out and I WILL want to show everyone, so I will include them in updates, just Be Prepared)
> 
> NOW:  
> For this chapter warnings for violence and like a little blood but that's super usual for this now. Also my terrible language as per usual.  
> Also warning for gratuitous misuse of dream sequences and me going "just fuck it Flug has a gun now" because I didn't feel like making him wait for that sweet, sweet stun gun.  
> Also we have a Surprise Challenger entering in this chap. Who could it be?

In the end, it took Flug the rest of the night and into the next day to cobble together a working prototype. He probably should have gotten some sleep in there somewhere, but every time his eyes drooped he was reminded of his nightmare the previous night, and had snapped back up, wary.

He was already a terrible enough insomniac, this really, really wasn't helping.

He was astounded at just how quickly he was able to get the invention working, but his progress was expedited as halfway through the day he realized he could move his fingers on his right hand just fine. He flexed them again, and no pain shot through his arm when he jostled it. He thought back to Laverna's words from the previous day, incredulous, but when he'd (rather crudely) cracked open the cast with his tools and raised his arm, he found it working perfectly despite all odds.

He squinted at his hand, twisting it about in his grip. He'd have to ask Laverna what exactly that medicine was next time he saw her, and for her to explain its odd properties. Why it had worked on his internal organs right away, yet taken its time on his less injured arm? He couldn't comprehend it. The fact that it _had_ healed him so quickly was a miracle, but it not healing everything at the same rate sure was unusual. It was like it had simply forgotten about the arm, and caught up to that injury later.

But seeing as he now had two hands to work with, he didn't question it _too_ hard.

By the afternoon, he smirked as he held up a clunky stun gun, twisting it and watching as the lamp lights reflected off its scuffed surface.

Maybe it wasn't as pretty as his normal work, or as that orb still sitting on the corner of his desk looking at him, but it would get the job done.

Speaking of which.

He looked at the sphere, scowling slightly. Just the sight of it sparked his irritation.

He glanced over to the clock, looking at the time. It was still the afternoon, he had some time.

So he dove back into investigating the sphere, scooping it up and turning it around in _both_ hands. He tossed it into the air casually with one hand and caught it with the other, smiling.

Now Black Hat didn't have his device, _and_ Flug was completely healed. He was really feeling like he had the upper hand here, no pun intended.

He pulled his goggles back down and snagged a mask from a spare drawer, sitting down to experiment more before he put his plan for the night in action.

Now, last time he'd gotten quite an unpleasant shock at opening it, but there wasn't much else he could do to examine it more than to just open it again. The outside was completely featureless, and he'd taken all the readings he could otherwise – even planted an EMP in case he needed it out of action quickly.

There was no way to open it more carefully either, since it appeared to be bolted shut from the inside – unless he wanted to cut it open, saw it in half, or wield it open, but for some reason that he couldn't understand, he didn't want to do that. He didn't want to _ruin_ it, and the overprotective feeling that had been building became almost overpowering.

So with a deep breath, he once again levered in his tools and slowly pried the device in half.

He leaned back, holding his breath, as the crack widened slowly, millimeter by millimeter, until he saw that black smoke creeping out from inside the device into the air again.

It whisped into the space above his desk, twirling and rising at a sluggish pace. It could only have been slightly lighter than air then, what with the way it crawled.

It was also _startlingly_ opaque. It was as though the color black itself had crawled out, staining the other colors of the room. Flug's desk lamp, which shown down onto the scene, couldn't even light it up. It simply absorbed all color and light it touched.

Flug stared at it, frozen in place, tool still turned at an angle to wedge open the device. His hand shook slightly at the strain and he tried to take it in.

He couldn't think of any reason the inside of this invention would produce such smoke, unless a chemical was inside... or something was _burning?_ But it was impossible for there to be such an engine inside such a small space.

Suddenly the device's temperature fluctuated again, as it had been ever since he'd begun taking readings. He glanced down at the base of it, and gasped as the metal began to warm. It must have been conducting heat at a rapid rate from whatever was inside. If it was silver, it would be an exceptionally good conductor after all, and conduct it _did._

But this was too much. It was heating up at a rate Flug hadn't recorded it doing before, and soon enough it was hot to the touch. He furrowed his brow and tilted his head, trying to comprehend it.

He almost didn't notice how the smoke started to move through the air in an unnatural way, going against the normal air currents of the room.

Almost.

His eyes snapped back up to the smoke trail, widening as he noticed it snaking its way through the air and towards his face.

Which distracted him from just how hot the device was getting, actually starting to tint pink with heat.

His hand felt it though, and with a yelp, he released the device, causing it to snap closed again with a _click._ He pulled his hand to his chest defensively, and stared, wide-eyed, as the smoke seemed to weaken and disperse. It faded to gray and slowly disappeared, getting spread out into the rest of the air in Flug's apartment.

Flug sat still for a second, just breathing, eyes staring at the empty space in front of him.

He finally looked back down at the sphere. It had faded back to a normal color, and when he dared to test, it was cool to the touch.

He licked his lips and his eyes darted around nervously.

He was starting to think it wasn't so much a machine or invention, as a container.

Flug stood up abruptly, pushing back from his desk.

He needed more information. He was running on only a vague knowledge of Black Hat, let alone whatever _that thing_ might be. Because if his meddling confirmed anything, it was he didn't know as much about Coeus as he had thought he did. Sure, they may do some weird experiments some times to keep pace with the villains making equally messed up devices, but this was _unnatural_ and _unexplainable_ and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

He looked over at the clock again, gauging the time.

He nodded. He was going to get some information.

By the evening, he'd taken a shower, gotten dressed, and hidden his makeshift shield and stun gun into the folds of his long coat. He'd gone with a winter coat instead of his normal lab coat, simply because the bright white of his usual attire might have been a bit conspicuous.

He paused as something on the news, which he'd had idling in the background, caught his attention. He turned up the volume.

“- at Coeus labs. Security officers from the company have assured the public that it was simple vandalism, though several bystanders expressed concern. That's all the – “

Flug turned of the television with a glare. Coeus, Coeus, Coeus.

He should probably be concerned about that, but he was tired of Coeus and tired of the news and tired of the world. He turned to continue getting ready.

His thoughts flashed back to the television, to when his name and face were displayed on the news, and snagged a beanie as well, tugging it low over his ears to hide his hair and obscure his face. He did one last check over his hidden devices, before heading out.

He took his motor scooter, but parked it several blocks away from his destination. It wasn't _likely_ that anyone would recognize it, but better safe than sorry.

Plus he wasn't sure he wanted to leave his bike alone in the vicinity of his destination, he didn't want it to get stolen after all. So he walked the rest of the way, coat wrapped tightly around his center. He shoved his hand into his pocket and rested his hand lightly on the stun gun, eyes darting this way and that.

He was in a _bad_ part of town and he knew it. Villains frequented this area and crime was high.

But that was exactly why he was here.

He'd heard that some members of the black market frequented bars around this area, same with some low-level villains. So maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to see or hear something.

 _Or_ he could get mugged or murdered, but that was why he had his inventions. And his tenacity.

He survived Black Hat, he wasn't about to get taken out by your average mugger. Not at this point, he'd live out of pure _spite._

But after a few minutes of wandering, squinting, and looking for the particular bar he'd planned to plant himself in, he started to get nervous. He wasn't _lost_ , but he wasn't in the right place, not exactly. As he passed by a brightly lit sign, he squinted at it, trying to figure out exactly where he'd taken a wrong turn. Because _of course he had._

He _knew_ he was in the right area, he'd done his research, but somewhere along the way me must have gotten turned around. Or maybe he hadn't gone far enough.

His anxiety wasn't helping him out.

He spotted something he thought he knew, and began to head that way.

“Haven't seen you around here before,” someone said, causing Flug to jump and spin.

A woman stood at the entrance to an alley. Her head was shaved on one side, and was reflecting the lights, emphasizing its bright blue color. She smiled in a rather predatory way, and Flug swallowed as he saw her flicking a switchblade in and out.

So that was not good.

He wrapped his hand around the stun gun in his pocket, tense.

“You lost honey?” She asked, tilting her head and smiling, bearing her canines.

“No, I'm fine, thank you,” Flug muttered, and turned quickly to head in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, as he turned he found himself facing another person, a broad man.

“Excuse me - “ He tried, attempting to slip by him.

It didn't work, the man blocked him, but it had been worth a shot.

Flug sighed, he'd known this had been a possibility, he had just hoped to avoid it.

He spotted another man, okay three of them. He could do this.

Flug closed his eyes a second and took a deep breath, calming his nerves. He fixed his grip on the stun gun and tensed, ready to pull it. He saw the woman straighten and begin to head his way. She repositioned her grip on her switchblade as she approached, smiling.

Flug expected his nerves to rise and for himself to break down. He expected the blood to rush in his ears and for his veins to get set on fire in panic.

Oddly enough, that didn't happen. Instead, he felt a cold energy settle over him. His shaking stilled as he pulled back on the safety, gun still hidden. He heard a barely audible _clink_ , and he felt his pulse jump as a thrill ran through him.

It was almost anticipation.

“Hey, cut it out losers,” he heard a high-pitched voice suddenly call out from behind him. He spun in concern. It knocked him out of his concentration, and the calmness fled as he searched for another harasser. It had thrown his calculations off.

While his eyes searched for the young woman who had spoken, her words caught up to his mind. It had the oddest affect. Instead of calming him, realizing someone else might be on his side, it had somehow reignited his nervousness and he began to shake again as he searched for the girl. Although, a hope had sprung in his mind that fighting would be unnecessary now that someone else had come to his aid.

It took another second for him to realize that her voice had come from _up._ He looked up in shock to see she was balancing on the top of the thin railing of a metal fence of a bordering alley. His eyes widened as he looked up to her.

She had her hands on her hips, which were jutted to the side at a dramatic angle as she leaned forward, looking down her nose at everyone in the street with a superior air. Her feet were placed in line with the railing, and she somehow kept balance despite her asymmetrical stance.

Flug wondered briefly if she had some special agility, but then she leaned a little too far forward and her arms shot out to catch her balance. She swung them widely as she struggled to catch herself in a rather clumsy way, which seemed pretty typical. Unlike her perch _on_ the fence.

Maybe she was just crazy.

“Or what, you'll tattle?” The woman, said. She moved, pointing her knife away from Flug to point at the other woman. It was useless what with her safe altitude, but Flug felt like it was more of a concept anyway. “Real scary. We aren't scared of the police.”

“I'll tell Mark to kick you off his step,” she grinned widely, eyes glinting. She suddenly moved, dropping to crouch on the fence before throwing her legs out and over, settling into position sitting on the railing and kicking her feet out. “He's sweet on me, you'll have to find another place to loiter.”

Flug heard the two men muttering.

The woman on the fence tilted her head, and the dim light from the neon sign glittered off her neon red hair. The light created green highlights in her cropped bangs, accentuation the pixie cut that curved around her face, sharpening her features in a predatory manner. Her leather clothes reflected the green light in a similar manner, catching specifically the chains hanging off her sleek black vest.

It even got caught up in her eyes, and Flug watched as they flickered a poison green as she tilted her head the other way and kicked out her feet in a childish way, causing the chains on her clothing to clink loudly.

“Plus, I thought we were friends,” she continued, pouting and aiming her look at the other members of the group. “You didn't forget about me did you? I'm hurt.”

“No,” one of the men muttered, and the woman shot him a glare, looking about like she was going to turn her knife on him next.

“Look Little Red,” He said.

“Big Red now,” she said, winking. A thought struck her, and she doubled over, giggling. Flug winced and almost moved forward to catch her as she teetered precariously on the edge of the high fence, but she whirled her arms out again and caught herself.

She quickly regained her composure, or whatever semblance of it she had, and Flug looked around at all the people around him in confusion. He felt like he was missing something, and that perhaps he should just leave.

“What if I say pretty please?” The woman on the fence asked, snapping his attention back up there. She brought her hands up to her heart and batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated manner.

“Why do you care?” Another one, the other guy, snapped. “You know him?”

“No, but come on Reg, look at him,” she made a flippant gesture towards Flug, giving him a pitying look that struck a wrong cord with Flug. “He looks like he'll break if you shove him too hard. You back to picking on nerds on the playground?”

“Hey now!” Flug cut back in, crossing his arms and glaring at the woman. For some reason, her demeanor cut right down to Flug's nerves, and he bristled. “I can take care of myself.”

She looked back at him, looking down the bridge of her nose at him. “You sure there? I'm trying to help you out here.”

“Yes I'm sure, I'm _fine_ ,” he replied, tapping a foot against the ground testily.

She gave him a disbelieving smile, but it was tinted with humor. Like she didn't believe him, but actually looked forward to him trying.

“Okay then,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender and leaning back, kicking out her legs again to balance herself. “Fine. I take back my 'cut it out losers,' cut it in.”

A thrill of panic ran through Flug as he realized what he'd done.

The cold calmness from earlier was nowhere to be found, it had slipped through his fingers and been replaced with raw panic. He spun again, turning his back to the woman on the fence to face his three attackers. He saw them approach and his heart stopped, he froze, and he felt a panic attack rising. His breath caught and his whole body tensed.

So he grit his teeth and took a deep breath, remembering his few encounters with Black Hat and reminding himself that he would _not_ go down to a few thugs in a dead-end street.

And by god he was _not_ going to the hospital again.

So he thought of Black Hat and he thought of the weight of the stun gun in his hand, and he thought of pushing his panic down. And he did. He felt the same ice settle in his veins, and he acted quickly.

He pulled the gun from his pocket, leveled it at the woman's chest, and pulled the trigger.

Flug watched as the the electricity rocketed out from the muzzle of his gun. It was like he entered bullet time, and his heart jumped again as he watched the raw power strike out and hit her directly in the chest, knocking her to the ground in a heap.

A loaded second passed, as both the men stared at Flug. Flug was busy staring wide-eyed at the woman lying on the ground nervously, until he heard her groan and sighed in relief.

That sound snapped both men into action and they moved towards him quickly.

Flug heard an excited squeal from somewhere up above him, but he ignored it and acted.

He turned and lowered the stun gun on the closest man racing towards him. He felt another thrill, and smiled slightly as another shock of electricity stuck the man, causing him to fly through the air. He breathed in sharply, watching as his body hit the cement ground with a crack and he rolled.

The calmness dispersed into the air immediately as anxiety rocked through him, but then the man shifted and he breathed out in relief again. When he turned his gaze to the last man, it was with fire running through him again and tense muscles.

When he heard a loud _bang,_ he physically jumped, startled, before he was _physically pushed back_ , knocking into the fence behind him with a rattle. Sparks flew off from the air in front of him as the barrier caught a projectile and tossed it backwards.

He heard a startled yelp above him as the fence shook, and the fence rattled some more.

But he fixed his gaze on the last man, mouth hanging open slightly in disbelief.

“Did you just try to _shoot_ – “ he started, before realizing just how dumb that question was. “No yeah that's – “

Another _bang_ , another 'oof' as it pushed him up against the fence again.

“Stop it!” He shouted, almost indignant. It was almost humorous, displaying such a reaction as a man was trying to _shoot him_ , but it was his immediate reaction. He quickly raised the gun again and fired quickly at the man, pursing his lips as the last man got struck and knocked away.

He stood there a second, before raising his stun gun to examine it in a daze.

That was, almost _easy._

 _Weirdly_ easy?

He blinked, staring at the muzzle of his gun.

Maybe Black Hat had given him unrealistic expectations of what a fight was like.

“Oh. My. _God!_ ” He heard a squealing behind him, and he snapped to attention. He whirled around and took a few quick steps backwards and away from the fence, leveling the gun steadily at the woman still perched there.

She had jumped back up to her feet on the rail, wobbling unsteadily. She teetered for a couple seconds, before deciding to just hop down, landing with a loud _thump_ and dropping into a crouch. She hopped right back up though, reaching up to squeeze either side of her face and jumped up and down in excitement.

“That. Was. So. _Cool!_ ” She squealed, running towards Flug and flapping her hands excitedly.

Flug flinched, heart skipping, and gripped the gun harder, re-positioning it to follow her movements towards him.

She paused, but the grin didn't leave.

“Easy there killer,” she said, “I was the one sticking up for you, remember?”

Flug flinched at the word, and he turned quickly to look at the people on the ground. They were all still down, but a quick look over them was enough to tell they were still okay. Flug's pulse slowed back down to normal slowly, and he dropped the gun down and away from the woman quickly, embarrassed. He shifted to hold it in one hand and rubbed nervously at the back of his neck with the other.

“Right, sorry, heat of the moment,” he replied, looking to the side.

“Don't worry about it because that was _so awesome!_ ” She exclaimed, clapping her hands and quickly running the rest of the way to Flug. He still flinched as she approached, and huffed as she slapped a hand roughly on his back.

“ _Dude,_ are you like, some sort of mad scientist?” She asked, grinning manically. This close, Flug could see how the fringe of her bangs was cut raggedly, leaving rough edges around her face, and how piercings ran up and down the cartilage of her ear, sticking out like menacing spikes. She had a crazed, manic look in her eyes, and he took a closer look to make sure they weren't red or something.

Nope, plain old brown – maybe hazel in the right light.

“No, just, a normal old scientist,” he replied, cautiously returning the stun gun to its hiding place in his pocket. “Well not old like – yeah just a normal scientist.”

“Aww,” she frowned, leaning back and getting out of Flug's personal space, which he appreciated greatly. “Not even like, a sad scientist?” She offered, turning her head and shooting him another grin.

He gave her an incredulous look, and she just wiggled her eyebrows and grinned wider. His expression broke, and he finally gave in.

“Okay, maybe a sad scientist sometimes,” Flug replied, grin breaking across his face. He snorted. “And uhm, who might you be then?”

“You don't know?” She asked, batting her eyes and flipping her wrist. “You must be new around here, explains why you thought it was a good idea to go into a dark alley behind the Poison Apple,” she giggled.

“Hey! It wasn't exactly an _idea_ okay, it just kind of happened,” he said, frowning.

“Okay, okay,” she raised her hands in surrender, “I guess you _are_ more capable than you look after all, because – _whew!_ ”

Flug frowned again, and shifted nervously on his feet, eyes darting around the street and at the unconscious people still lying on the ground. The woman followed his gaze, but just seemed to get another kick out of it, giggling loudly and slapping her leg.

“Are you going to tell me your name or...?” He tried again.

“You gonna tell me yours Mister Mad Scientist?” She asked.

“I'm not – “

“You _literally_ have like, a ray gun?” She said. “Or did you buy that somewhere?” Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated in excitement, and her voice pitched up almost half an octave. “You _on the black market?_ ”

“No I – I made it just – okay, fair.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, he could already tell he was in over her head with this girl. “Fine, look, I'm Flug, and you are – “ he made a prompting motion with his hand.

“Now was that so hard? Dementia, nice to meet ya,” she said, throwing her hand out almost violently. Flug eyed it nervously, before reminding himself that she _had_ tried to help him, and reaching out and shaking it. She gripped his hand harshly, pumping their hands a little too vigorously and causing him to have to take a steadying step forward, before dropping it suddenly and crossing her arms behind her back. Flug winced and shook his hand slightly.

“And that's your real name?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Has been since I picked it out,” she chirped.

“That's fair too I guess,” Flug muttered.

“Now for real, you _gotta_ let me get a look at that gun of yours,” she said, eyes widening in delight as she moved forward and made a grabbing motion.

“ _Nope!_ ” Flug pulled his coat tight around him and backpedaled quickly. “No way! Why would I do that?”

She paused mid-motion, before slumping and sighing.

“Was worth a shot,” she said, lopsided grin gracing her face. “Heh, shot.”

“Okay, look, thanks for helping me, but I really should be – “

“Well hey now!” She exclaimed, dashing around him to block his escape route and inciting his panic again. “You gotta at least, like, let me buy you a drink or something.”

“ _Why?_ ” Flug asked, eyes narrowing.

“Because you're like, _super cool?_ ” When Flug raised an eyebrow, she shrugged and grinned coyly. _“_ Or at least you have super cool _stuff,”_ she admitted.

Flug moved to go around her, and she frantically continued, darting to block him again.

“Plus, there has to be a reason you came down to this part of town right, Mister Not a Mad Scientist?” She asked, holding her arms out in a placating motion. “There's no reason you'd come down here with that gear for just a casual walk down an alley and then just leave, right?”

She pinned him with a predatory grin that set his stomach ill at ease.

“Maybe.” He shrugged and crossed his arms defensively over his chest.

“Okay, well, maybe I can help you out,” she replied, grinning triumphantly.

“Why would you want to help though?” He asked, still suspicious.

“Like I said, I'm impressed,” she replied, jutting a hip to the side and placing a hand on it. “ _And_ , I know good gossip when I see it. No way I'd pass this up.”

“What do you mean – “

“Look, why'd you come down here, huh? Meeting someone? Someone _important_?” At the last word she gasped, inciting her own excitement.

“No, but – “

“Then it wouldn't hurt to humor me now would it?” She pointed at him, confident.

“It would if you wanted to steal from me,” Flug replied, unimpressed. She seemed stumped at that for a minute, frowning and nodding as if accepting the accusation, before playing up the acting again.

“ _Moi?_ ” She gasped, mock-offended. She stared at him for a second, but when Flug just stared back she dropped it and pouted instead. “Okay fine, probably not smart to trust a random girl you meet in an alley, that's true. But seriously, come on, what did you come down here for anyway?”

She seemed insistent, and although Flug didn't _really_ want to associate with her, he sighed and thought about it. Maybe if he gave her just a little bit, she'd get satisfied and leave.

“I'm looking for information,” he said finally. He turned to leave again, but she squealed and jumped into his path again.

Or maybe it would encourage her. Great.

“Well that's great because _I_ have information!” She said, hopping excitedly.

“Really? On what?” He asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

“On _everyone!_ Seriously, I'm like the town gossip,” she gave him a hopeful look, biting at her bottom lip. “Come on, just one drink? And then maybe you can show me – “ when he glared she averted her eyes and shrugged, still smiling, “or not, no harm done.”

Flug frowned.

“Did you forget I was gonna get you out of that mess?” She said, batting her eyes at him again.

It didn't appear he was getting out of this one unless he wanted to knock her out too. His thoughts flickered to the stun gun in his pocket.

He grimaced at his own thought.

“Fine,” he mumbled, feeling kind of guilty. She shouted and jumped in delight, starling him to jump.

“Sweet, follow me!”

Flug immediately regretted the decision as she grabbed his wrist and dragged him down the street. Soon enough, he found himself perched on a bar stool in the corner of a bar, ominously enough called the _Poison Apple_ (who wanted to get drinks from a place with poison _literally_ in the title?), watching as Dementia flagged down a bartender and ordered drinks.

He supposed a bar was a good enough place to get information, but he wasn't sure he had been mentally prepared enough to walk into a bar frequented by _villains._ So that was _great._

He pulled the beanie further down over his hair, darting a nervous look around again.

“ _So Fluggy_ ,” Dementia said, plopping back down with a drink in either hand. She kept the dark red drink swirling ominously around a clear class for herself and slid the can of beer down towards Flug. When he gave it a look she grinned and said, “It's sealed. Since ya don't trust me and all.”

“Thanks,” he replied, grabbing a hold of it. He cracked it open to appease her, but refrained from drinking any.

“So Flug, Flug my man,” she said, pausing to take a sip of her drink, “What 'information' are you looking for exactly?”

When Flug didn't respond, she frowned and snapped her fingers in front of his face, causing him to jump.

“What?” He asked. He'd been scanning the room again.

Dementia looked around too, searching for something. When she apparently didn't find it, she gave Flug a confused look.

“You looking for someone?” She asked.

“No,” he mumbled.

“You looking for _not_ someone?” She tried, grinning lopsidedly. Flug gave her an incredulous look. “Like making sure someone isn't here,” she clarified, wiggling her eyebrows.

“ _No_ ,” he replied, but the way his face scrunched up must have given him away.

“Don't worry,” she sighed, leaning forward across the counter. “Nobody _actually_ important ever shows up here. So I'm sure you're fine.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

“I mean that no _real_ villains ever hang here, jeez I _wish_ they did, no it's only ever wannabes or lackys here, _boring_.” She scoffed and stuck out her tongue. “Wish there was some real action.”

“And which are you?” He asked scathingly. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, wincing and reaching up like he could pull them back. “I mean – “

“ _I,_ my friend, am a _connoisseur_ _,_ ” she replied. She winked at Flug, apparently letting that jab slide. She grinned widely waited. Flug sighed and gave in.

“Of what?” He asked reluctantly.

“Villains,” she replied, grinning widely and throwing her hands into the air. “Of _course._ ”

“And what does that entail?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“In this hole? Mostly moping and waiting for a _real_ villain to come in and sweep me off my feet,” she sighed. She threw a hand up and fake swooned.

“So you're a wannabe lacky,” Flug said, smiling and sipping at his drink unconsciously.

“Exactly!” She shot back, smirking. “Or a wannabe partner. Partner _in crime._ ” Her eyes seemed to light up at her own idea, and she gazed distantly for a second.

When she didn't appear to come back on her own, Flug cleared his throat to get her attention. She snapped back to him.

“Sorry,” she said, sticking out her tongue impishly. “So, back to _business._ ”

She wiggled her eyebrows and Flug furrowed his.

“I'm not sure I really like the sound of that,” he admitted, watching her almost buzz with energy.

“Too bad. So like, are you looking to _sell_ that stuff of yours?” She asked, making a vague gesture towards Flug's coat. Flug clutched it protectively, remembering her desire of it earlier. “Or like, looking to buy stuff?”

“What makes you say that?” He said defensively. It wasn't true, well... it wasn't the route he had planned on taking, but it might actually work.

“Well I _assume_ you want in the, ahem, market. Seeing as that's what's hot around here, and if you're an inventor, then well...” She shrugged. “Seems like a straight shot, yeah? And I might be able to hook you up.” She grinned again.

Flug squinted. He wasn't sure about that, wasn't confident she didn't still just want his stuff.

“I, ah, I was actually looking to ask about somebody specific,” he said, before adding, “to do business with,” to play along.

“In the black market?” She asked, leaning back in her seat.

“Yes,” he replied. Black Hat was big in the black market, so this was actually pretty convenient.

“Okay, shoot.” She formed a pistol shape with her hand and made a small 'pew' as she pretend shoot him. He just stared deadpan, before continuing.

“Do you know about a villain named Black Hat?”

“Black Hat?” Her eyebrows shot up and she unconsciously straightened up in her seat. “Oh boy, I'm not sure you want to sell to Black Hat. Or buy from him for that matter. Or meet him, full stop.”

“Why's that?” He asked. She opened her mouth, looking almost concerningly enthusiastic, and he quickly clarified, “Why shouldn't I sell to him, that is.”

“Well he doesn't really... buy stuff,” she replied, swirling her drink and gazing off into the air absently. “Isn't really the type... probably not your type,” she winked, “but then again I don't know maybe you're into that.” Her look turned dreamy. “He sure is _my_ type.”

“Uhm why?” Flug asked. When she lit up he held up his hands and quickly corrected. “Why doesn't he buy stuff.”

She pouted, apparently really excited to go off about her 'type.'

“Well like I said, he doesn't buy stuff. More like... goes into a place that already has stuff, takes all their stuff, and then kills everybody. And _then_ sells it.” She sighed, apparently daydreaming. That did not make Flug feel better.

“So he just steals stuff?” Flug replied. Seemed accurate. He could confirm that.

“More like raids places,” she confirmed, nodding. “Takes them _out!_ ”

She made two finger guns now, shooting imaginary bullets at Flug in a rain of 'pew pew's. He ignored her and pressed on.

“He doesn't... like look for specific things?” He ventured cautiously. His hopes of getting pertinent information was quickly slipping away.

“Not that I know of?” She shrugged. “Though honestly he's been kind of quiet lately now that I think of it.” She tapped her chin in thought. “And I am an _avid_ follower let me tell you. Can't get enough of those _theatrics_.” She kicked a leg out and threw her hands up, grinning widely.

Flug couldn't say he _agreed_ with the idea of these huge battles between good and evil being compared to a melodramatic show, but honestly with how prevalent they were in the media he couldn't really counter that belief. He just never thought he'd meet a villain fan-girl in like, his real life. Maybe on the internet but...

“Oh yeah!” She exclaimed suddenly, slamming a fist down into her other palm and lighting up. “Except for there was that whole lab thing, but he was actually quiet before that too and I haven't seen his work since, so, yeah weird.”

“Oh, the lab,” Flug said, smoothly. Just, real smooth. Not at all grimacing and averting his eyes in a tale-tell sign of guilt. His voice was like, super steady too. Very not suspicious.

“Yeah that was weird! Kinda ironic though,” she giggled. Suddenly her glee turned sharp in a way that reminded Flug he wasn't talking to a normal girl, he was talking to a girl who wanted to be a villain and was friends with gangs.

“Ironic?” He asked. His nervous energy bled into his voice, but she didn't seem to notice.

“It was that Coeus place! Like, isn't that poetic justice or irony or whatever! God I hate those assholes,” she scowled and scoffed. Flug just tensed.

“Oh yeah?” Flug grinned nervously and suddenly regretted coming in even more. He tried to casually sip his drink, but he accidentally inhaled some and began to cough furiously, banging a fist against his chest. Again, she ignored him.

Maybe she wasn't all that observant.

“Yeah they act so high and mighty, like 'bluh bluh we're the real heroes,' but they're no better than criminals themselves! They steal all their stuff, but they act like because they're doing it for 'good' – ” her air quotes were so exaggerated they actually made her sway, “ – that somehow makes them... good...” She squinted. “Wait hold on I can come up with something better give me a sec,” she muttered.

“I mean they copy a lot of stuff, that's true, but I wouldn't call that stealing really – “ Flug tried, but she cut him off.

“No I mean they _literally_ steal,” she said, looking back over at Flug. “They literally take shit from 'defeated' villains and just put a shiny new coat on it and call it theirs. That's _stealing._ ”

“Well I mean, no, that's what reverse engineering is,” Flug said, putting up a weak defense. His heart wasn't in it though, and she quickly talked over him.

“I wish he'd torn the place up more,” she muttered, pouting. “Except I heard some hero stopped him or something? I mean, I don't know why he didn't just take the place out on the way out y'know? Unless the hero was super powerful or something. Hadn't really thought about it before I guess.”

She looked genuinely thoughtful, tapping at the bar.

“Yup, I, uh, I'm sure it was,” he stammered. Okay he was only getting worse at this point. He tugged at the beanie self-consciously.

She stopped and squinted, looking at him

“Why do you want to know about Black Hat anyway?” She asked.

“Oh!” Flug's voice rose and he quickly pulled it back down. “Well like I said I wanted to do business with him, but now, ah, now I'm not so sure, so...”

He made a vague hand motion and grimaced.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Yeah but why him specifically, and why are you so nervous?”

Flug flinched. Worse, he saw her follow the movement with her eyes. Something in her demeanor shifted, which only caused Flug to get more nervous.

Maybe she was more observant than he gave her credit for.

She confirmed this thought, when her eyes suddenly widened in realization – and from what Flug could decipher, panic.

“Oh my god!” She shouted, jumping from her seat. “You're that dude from the news! How didn't I _notice_? I'm so _stupid!_ ”

“No!” Flug exclaimed, waving his hands and desperately trying to get her to sit back down before she caught the attention of the others in the bar. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he hissed, voice low.  
“Yeah! The one from – “ her eyes narrowed and she tensed. The fury in her eyes was clearly visible, she snarled, bearing her teeth. She clenched her fists and looked like she was going to take a swing at him. “Holy _hell,_ I just – we were just – you little _snake!_ ”

Flug decided now was a time to get out of here. He quickly tried to abscond.

“Oh no you don't,” she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him back into his seat when he tried to get up. Okay, she was pretty strong too, that was _great_. “You're not – are you some kind of _hero?_ ” She spat, eyes fiery.

“No, no, not a hero, promise!” He tittered, voice raising to a high pitch. He held up his hands in front of him in defense. “Cross my heart – just, _hope_ to die!”

“You're from that lab – “

“No! No! I _am_ not! Not from 'that' lab,” he exclaimed, voice jumping in pitch. He was trying to keep his face away from her coiled fist.

“Well I mean, I was,” he admitted, and jumped as she tensed to move, “but I'm not with them anymore, I swear! Please, just, keep your voice down and calm down and _please_ don't hit me,” he said, eyes darting around to where people were starting to look at them.

“Prove it,” she said, pinning him with her glare. She lowered her hand though, so Flug counted it as a win.

“Huh?” He asked. “Ho – “

“ _Prove it,_ you said you came here for information, that's pretty dang sketchy, and I _will not_ be a snitch, and I _will not_ go down,” she hissed.

“I don't know how to – “

“I'll tell everyone, I'll shout – “

“No don't – ! “

“Then prove – “

“I stole from them!” He exclaimed, voice high and tight. He winced, eyes scrunching closed and waiting for her reaction. She paused for a minute, still holding onto the front of Flug's shirt and glaring, before a devious look crossed her eyes.

“Really?” She asked, and Flug wanted to scream at the delight in her voice.

“Yeah really, I stole from them, I'm not with them anymore – I mean technically I am I haven't quit yet b _ut I'm going to!_ ” He finished, volume rising as she narrowed her eyes again. “And, I mean, they'll suspect me more if I quit anyway? So it's a better cover? So could you _please_ just sit back down.”

She paused for a second, before letting go of his shirt and perching herself back on the stool.

Flug looked around, nervous, but apparently this was such a common occurrence that everyone was already back to their business and nobody was paying attention. He sighed in relief.

“So you stole from Coeus,” she said, making Flug wince, “ _and_ survived Black Hat?”

When Flug looked back at her, her eyes were almost glittering.

“Yes,” he replied, keeping his voice low.

“Awesome!” She shouted, not at all bothering to keep her voice low.

He hushed her frantically.

“Could you keep it down _please,_ ” he said, desperation seeping into his whole body.

“Was it that gun?” She asked, instead of complying.

“No I made that – “

“Then what was it? Show me!” She bounced excitedly.

“Well I don't have it _on me_ ,” he replied, scowling.

That shut her up for a minute. She pursed her lips in thought, and Flug hoped for a moment that that would be the last of it. It was a foolish hope.

“Okay, fine, but you have to let me in on it,” she said at last, devious smile on her face. It wasn't quite as malicious as Black Hat's, but it was certainly one of the most nerve-wracking smiles Flug had seen in his life.

“ _In on it_?” He repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, _in on it_ ,” she repeated. It didn't help Flug understand her more.

“What do you mean?” He asked nervously.

“Well, I _mean_ you let me in on it. In on whatever big scheme you have going,” she said. Flug was surprised at her earnest delight. He knew she had an ulterior motive, but it couldn't pin it yet.

“And why would I do that? And why would you _want_ that?” He asked, trying to find a way out of this.

“Well first off because it's cool and like, the first chance I have to get in on a real scheme here,” she answered, “and because I can help _you._ ”

That caught Flug's attention, but not necessarily in an entirely good way. It made him curious, but it also made him nervous.

“How so?” He asked, fearing he'd regret it.

“You want info on Black Hat? Well maybe I can ask around and get some, yeah?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “It'd be a little less suspicious than your nerdy self walking in here.”

She had a point, even if it made Flug scowl and pout. Still –

“Still, I'm not sure – “

“Plus you kind of have to now,” she cut in, giving him a look, “you did just tell me about it after all.”

Flug groaned. Dementia grinned.

“And I can't just trust you to keep a secret?” He asked, already knowing it was hopeless.

“Oh _absolutely_ not,” she chirped, smiling brightly.

“Fine,” he spat, definitely aggravated. “Fine, okay, whatever!”

He threw his hands up in surrender, and she cheered.

“Give me your phone number – your real one!” She said, pointing at him and giving him a look, as if guessing his thoughts.

He sighed and rattled it off. She immediately pulled out her phone and called it. Flug winced as his phone rang. She hung up, apparently satisfied.

“Okay then,” she held out her hand again, and Flug eyed it suspiciously. “Come on now, partner.”

“Oh no,” he mumbled, but reached out and shook her hand anyway.

Like last time, she gripped too hard and shook too vigorously and Flug was left feeling vaguely attacked.

“I'll ask around, but you gotta give me some more info on the info you want,” she said, practically bouncing from excitement.

“Just – just ask about his plans, what he's up too, what he wants, why he robbed Coeus, that kind of thing,” he waved a hand dismissively.

“Can do partner,” she replied, giving him an exaggerated solute. “In fact, I can start right now – “

“No!” He hissed, eyes darting around. “Don't you think it would be suspicious to do that while I'm sitting right – “

“Then go home, your goodie-two-shoes are already suspicious in here anyway. Might as well leave it to me,” she said. She had already jumped to her feet and had a hand placed on either hip.

“I – “

He sighed. He was so tired. He hadn't slept since that last nightmare and he was running dangerously close to crashing. He'd wanted information, and he'd gotten some, but he'd also gotten this mess. But he guessed that had to be good for tonight.

“Fine,” he replied tiredly. “Fine. I'm leaving now then.”

“Safe travels,” she sang, already darting off.

“Oh god,” he muttered. What had he gotten himself into now.

 

* * *

 

He got home uneventfully, and had immediately changed and flopped into bed, passing out almost on contact.

When Flug opened his eyes again, he found himself in a looming corridor. His eyes darted around, heart jumping, but he quickly settled himself when the realization hit him again. He sighed, looking down to examine his rubber gloves and lab coat, signaling that yes, again, he was dreaming.

However, when he glanced around at the intimidating walls that seemed to be curving in on him, he was surprised to find he wasn't in the lab at all. If he had been, the walls would have been a dull metal that gave off blurred reflections of anything that passed through their halls.

No, instead he squinted at the plaster walls, tinted a faded red, and gave a timid stomp on the plush carpet.

It certainly wasn't the lab, but it also certainly wasn't any place he'd been before.

He reached up and tried to move his goggles just to make sure the red color that bled over the whole scene wasn't some side-effect of the lenses. Typically, they tinted the world gray or dark blue, but it wouldn't find it too unexpected if his scattered mind had replaced them with rose-tinted lenses – though he wasn't sure what big symbolism he was supposed to get out of that.

But no, when he lifted the lenses and squinted, the world was still an ominous blood red. So... there was that.

He sighed and returned the protective lenses to their place, and looked around again.

The hallway was weirdly decorated with old-timey paraphernalia. It was honestly pretty cliché. He spotted everything from a medieval suit of armor to a giant portrait that spanned from floor to ceiling. When he approached it and examined the subject, he immediately groaned and threw his hands into the air in exasperation.

It wasn't like he was really hoping for more, but it was still disappointing that he had to deal with this shit.

He spun, resolutely turning his back to the still image of Black Hat.

He was half tempted to spin back, just to make a rude gesture at it, but wrinkled his nose and just continued on down the tall, arching hallway.

He just wandered for a bit, eyes darting around at all the strange objects and trying to figure out exactly was going on. It was pretty useless, he had no clue, but he tried at least.

He couldn't even find any doors, only just more and more twists and turns down these never-ending halls. An alarming thought struck him that perhaps this was _actually_ a labyrinth, in which case he was only getting more and more lost in this maze. He stood still at another branching path, and took the right branch.

Logically, if he always followed the same wall, he'd have to get out eventually.

Unless it just never ended.

He grimaced as he reached another branch and took another right. He trailed his gloved hand against the wall, always making contact, just in case.

He spotted a crystal chandelier, another elaborate portrait of Black Hat, and several vases. Why these were all just sitting out in a never-ending _hallway_ he didn't know, but at least they showed that his surroundings were changing.

He had been squinting up at an almost intimidatingly large cobweb, still walking and trailing his hand, when he stopped suddenly and jumped as his hand knocked into something. He spun quickly, and stared at where his palm had hit a door-frame. His eyes widened and he quickly took in the door, as it was the first one he'd encountered in the maze.

It arched almost all the way to the ceiling and was a dark mahogany, but other than that it had no other identifying features. He pursed his lips, eyes darting down to the knob.

He thought for a second, wondering if he should just pass on and continue on in his current method. But if the maze really did go on forever...

He tapped his fingers against the knob aimlessly. Well if he was going in he'd better be prepared.

Flug looked down at his other hand, and thought. Just like last time, a hazy mist coalesced around his hand, weaving through his fingers fluidly and wrapping around his wrist like a snake. It crawled around his arm, and Flug shivered at the sensation. It was oddly colder than last time – in fact last time it hadn't felt like anything at all. Odd.

He frowned at it as he realized it was also fainter than last time, also odd.

It _also_ almost refused to solidify, making Flug raise his eyebrows. It formed the shape of the gun, the same one he'd used to... well, “wake himself up” last time, but it stayed in that foggy half-state and refused to form. He glared.

“Come on,” he said, tapping his foot. “Shape up.”

The fog actually seemed to disperse a little at that, and he made an offended noise. He scowled and pulled again, and the gun suddenly coalesced into his palm, making him almost drop it when he felt the sudden weight.

He pulled it up and scowled at it, turning it around. Seemed fine.

He shrugged, and turned the knob slowly, holding the gun up to his chest and peering through the door.

Inside was a dim red room, fitting nicely into the apparent aesthetic of this whole place. It was back-lit by a large red window. He cautiously walked in, still alert, and took in the room.

It appeared to be an office, in fact there was a large desk, proudly displaying a name plate with the name (who would have guessed) “Black Hat.”

He stared at it a minute, before his eyes darted to the wastebasket next to the desk and a coy smile crossed his lips. He marched over to the desk, still keeping an eye out for the man himself. He stopped in front of the desk and grinned widely as he scooped up the name plate, before side-stepping and casually dropping it into the trash.

“Oops,” he said, before giggling childishly.

He took another moment to look around. He found a variety of items, from knives to skulls to what appeared to be a large totem pole. He was examining this last one, carefully watching the dragon head at the top because he _swore_ it blinked, when he heard a noise behind him.

He spun, watching as the door opened. He thought fast, and ducked behind the totem pole, peeking out.

He wasn't surprised when Black Hat entered the room, gripping his lapels and strolling over to the desk. He almost grinned when the other didn't notice him.

He _was_ surprised when the totem pole suddenly made a noise, half between a roar and a siren, causing both him and his heart to jump.

Black Hat spun, glaring at the totem pole. He waved a hand, and suddenly Flug's hiding place was gone.

Well so much for that. He should have known it was too good to be true.

Honestly, he almost felt like face-palming when the object in front of him disappeared into the air and he found himself at the receiving end of Black Hat's furious expression.

Instead, he just sighed, slouching, before he suddenly affixed a fake smile on his face and waved to the villain enthusiastically.

Black Hat's expression froze, and oddly enough the anger faded and the man looked almost amused for a second. Flug felt hopeful, just for a second, before the demon smiled and waved back. His smile was, well not reassuring to say the least.

Flug glanced down at his gun, squinting and considering his options.

He heard a noise, and looked back up, expecting Black Hat to be approaching. Instead, the villain was gesturing widely and saying... something.

Flug squinted and tilted his head. He couldn't hear anything.

Black Hat was obviously monologuing, which would probably be helpful to hear, but it sounded as if he was underwater. All Flug could get was muffled and fractured pieces.

“What?” He actually asked. He regretted it, because he should be escaping right now not encouraging him, but oh well.

Black Hat's sharp smile fell, and he scowled. He repeated himself.

Flug squinted harder, trying to read his lips, because again the words buzzed out. It was as if they were talking over a bad cell phone reception, or from different rooms – except even when Flug thought he caught a word, that he heard something and understood it, it slipped right off the side of his brain and he was unable to comprehend it.

“Can't hear you,” he said at last, shrugging and pursing his lips – you know, a realistic reaction when facing the person who had already tried to kill you twice previously. Or once... or twice? Did the dream count? Well this was a dream so might as well count it in.

Black Hat seemed to aggravate at Flug's attitude, because he stomped a foot childishly and put his hands on his hips. He took a step forward.

Flug didn't hesitate, aiming the gun directly at his chest. He just raised an eyebrow and smiled widely, saying something else – which _again_ was still useless. He took another step.

Okay, new method.

Flug pulled the gun away from Black Hat and aimed it at the side of his own head, pulling back the trigger and listening as the gun buzzed and warmed up.

This actually made Black Hat stop, which surprised Flug to no end. He scowled, firmly placing both feet on the ground and holding up his hands almost in a semblance of compliance. He said... _something_ , which made Flug frown.

“What part of 'can't hear you' don't you understand,” he snapped, actually annoyed, before scowling and rolling his eyes. “You know what, nevermind. I don't even know why I'm still here.” He grinned manically at Black Hat, crinkling his eyes and feeling a wave of dark humor wash over him as he sang out, “ _Bye!_ ”

He pulled the trigger.

_Click._

Nothing.

He froze. The grin dropped of his face and his eyes widened. He looked slowly over at the gun he still held up to his own head. He swallowed hard as the edges of it blurred, slowly fading off into the air until his hand was empty.

“Well shit,” he said, voice flat and deadpan.

Black Hat visibly perked up, and quickly rushed over to Flug, crossing the space in no more than three long strides. He reached out to grab unto Flug's shirt in a way that was _really_ familiar at this point – really, it was almost a routine.

“Oh come – “ Flug started, pulling back, but broke off as Black Hat's hand passed harmlessly through him. He stared, and shivered as the other physically phased through him.

Black Hat froze, looking down at his own hand.

Flug blinked, and examined the other. At this proximity, he noticed that Black Hat appeared faded out, as though he weren't quite there or not present in this space.

...or that Flug wasn't quite there. He looked down at his own chest, and noticed he looked the same.

“Huh,” he said. Black Hat's head snapped up. Apparently he could hear Flug even if Flug couldn't hear him, which didn't seem quite fair.

Black Hat scowled and spoke but –

Flug made a face and waved a hand over his ear.

“ _Seriously_ ,” he said. “ _Can. Not. Hear._ What part of that don't you get big guy?”

Black Hat froze, _apparently_ mid rant, though Flug wouldn't be able to confirm. He clicked his mouth shut, and glared at Flug. Flug just shrugged, entirely too nonchalant at this point – but hey it was a dream and Black Hat couldn't hurt him, couldn't even touch him, so who cared?

Apparently he did, or at least that's what his body told him as it involuntarily flinched as Black Hat loomed over him.

The other tried to grab his shoulder, but again phased through. Flug shivered at the sensation, it was entirely unpleasant, as though their atoms were just slipping past each other. It felt far too close in an oddly far apart way.

Black Hat scowled and leaned close – and _okay,_ no, _that_ was far too close. Flug wanted to back up just to maintain his personal space, but his legs locked up. He gasped and tried to move them, but they just wouldn't respond. His mind flashed to the night terror's he often experienced, and he was filled with dread.

Black Hat locked eyes with him, not moving, and something flashed behind that inhuman eye. Some flash of power or feeling or energy. Something Flug could neither comprehend, nor did he really want to.

All he knew was it made his mouth go dry and his blood run hot.

Black Hat smirked, still maintaining his “much too personal” space. He reached up, as if to touch him, before realizing his mistake and crossing his arms primly behind his back. He tilted his head, just watching as Flug stared, wide-eyed.

When Flug just blinked, frozen in place, his smirk widened and his eye crinkled in delight. He moved, leaning close to Flug's ear and making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end before –

Flug snapped out of whatever revery he was in and his muscles returned to him when he just heard static.

“I still can't – “ he said, backpedaling quickly and holding up his hands to regain his personal space.

Black Hat suddenly scowled and completely lost a hold of whatever role he had been playing. He stomped his foot again and his eye flashed – although this time that flash was _definitely_ anger. His body distorted, though now it _literally_ distorted and Flug struggled to work out what was real as Black Hat's edges blurred. He was also apparently shouting if the sudden loud muffled static ringing around Flug's ears was any indicator, and Flug uselessly tried to block it out.

It didn't work, and in fact it was only getting worse. The sound was getting farther away, and the room suddenly spun out from under him. Flug swayed dizzily as his surroundings faded out. He tried to grab onto the wall to steady himself, but the steady surface suddenly gave out and Flug found himself stumbling.

He squinted, trying to get his bearings in a dissolving world, and glanced back towards Black Hat.

The villain was watching him closely, glaring. He uselessly tried to grab him again, making a swipe at his shoulder, but with every second he was only fading more – fading right away along with the rest of the room.

For some reason, this panicked Flug more than Black Hat, and he reached out, trying to grab onto the villain's arm to steady himself.

For a second, he thought he could feel something, but his hand just slipped through.

He tried to take another steadying step to the side, but suddenly the floor wasn't there either, and he was tumbling down and down.

He hit the ground hard, and glared at the change in scenery. It was _almost_ the same hallway, but all the details were gone. Instead of elaborate portraits and plush carpets, it was as if he was just locked in a red rectangular prism. Every wall, the floor, the ceiling, they all looked exactly the same.

He panicked, and all his sense was gone. The lucid nature of the dream had dropped away.

He knew he was – wait was he – where was he?

He spun, trying to distinguish anything. Right from left? Floor from ceiling? Down? Up? Forward? Back? He couldn't tell. He couldn't think. Everything looked the same and the room was spinning.

He stumbled forward. He tried to – what was he trying to do? Get somewhere. But where was he trying to get?

He ran into a wall – but was it a wall or was it the floor? Hell it might have been the ceiling for all he knew.

He curled up on it, so it must be the floor. Unless he was leaning on a wall?

Everything was so mixed up, but everything was the same so there wasn't a difference.

He realized he was sobbing, breath coming it short bursts. He tried to grab onto something to ground himself, but the surface – whichever one it was – that he was touching was too smooth to the touch, he couldn't get any traction on it. He just slipped off.

Suddenly, something _different_ caught his eye and his heart jumped. He stumbled toward it (which meant he must have been standing, right?), and watched as the black shape approached him.

Some warning bell went off in the back of his head, and he searched desperately for an explanation. All that he could come up with was that it was a person. A person that he didn't want to see. Or he did. Did he?

He desperately tried to parse the question that was now buzzing around his head like a killer hornet (did he? didn't he?), but as the shape came into view he relaxed – because it wasn't the person, so it wasn't the question, and the bee could buzz off.

No, instead it was just a thing. And he sighed as a sense of familiarity returned to him.

Had he been lucid, he would have felt a sort of self-pity, that night terrors could give him a sense of safety and familiarity now. How fucked up was that? But since he was decidedly _not_ lucid at this point, he just sighed in relief as the shadow person approached him.

He couldn't move anymore, but that was normal, so that was okay.

Normal was okay.

The shadow person didn't even scare him now, despite it looming and his body remaining frozen, all muscles locked in place. It's bright eyes stared at him menacingly, but that only made him smile.

Haha, it had _two_ eyes, and they were both a bright white, not red, staring into him... how nice.

It reached for him, but it never made contact. Just, reaching and reaching, always approaching but never arriving.

He felt his eyes flicker, batting tiredly. The red of the walls around him faded to an off-beige, as if the blood were seeping right out of them, leaving them pale and dead.

Good, he didn't want to see the red. Or he did. Did he?

He scowled as that pesky question returned, a persistent fly. He wanted to swat it away but his hands were locked at his sides.

But it just kept buzzing, and it became so annoying that _had_ to reach up to pluck it out of the air. So he did, swatting at his head. Which meant he could move. Which meant he wasn't stuck. Which meant –

Flug sat straight up suddenly, gasping. His eyes darted around searching for the terror, but all his eyes landed on was his room.

“Oh jeez,” he said, dropping his head to his hands as he struggled to catch his breath. He flicked on the light, and sighed in relief as the artificial light flooded the room, driving out any last shadows.

He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. He fumbled for his phone, checking the time.

Almost 5, the sun would be up soon, everything was okay.

Everything was fine.

He finally got his breath under control, and sat there, staring out the window, for as long as it took for the sun to crawl up over the horizon.

 

* * *

 

That day, he decided to investigate the whole 'vandalism' situation. He'd texted Laverna inquiring about it, and had been surprised when she'd replied immediately with a 'I know already' and a 'I'm actually on the team'. He'd blinked, shocked, before asking her if she could come over and discuss the whole situation, maybe have some lunch at his place.

In no time, she'd arrived at his door, smiling widely and balancing on her heels as he waved her inside. Like before, she was wearing jeans and a halter top – this one navy – though the necklace was the same. He pointed her to the plush chair in the center of the room while he went to grab drinks.

Laverna sat on his chair, legs crossed primly and hands folded on top, when Flug turned back around with two glasses of tea. He watched for a second how she held her back completely straight and puffed out her chest slightly. She looked like a nervous child trying to behave well in front of someone important.

He snorted, and she spun to stare at him, still holding the proper posture.

When Flug began to full out giggle at her, she realized the direction of his mirth, and pouted, offended.

“What?” She asked.

“You look like you should be balancing a book on your head, miss,” he countered, eyes crinkling in humor.

“Hey, I'm just – I'm a _good_ guest!” She looked genuinely upset, which only made Flug laugh harder, hunching his shoulders in delight as his giggles escalated.

“You can relax, it's just my shitty apartment,” he said, catching his breath. “Plus I mean, you saved my life already so it's the least I can do.”

She looked at him a second longer, but then her pout shifted to a smirk.

“Fine!” She said exaggeratedly, kicking out one leg and lifting her hand to rest the back of her hand against her forehead as she let her eyes flutter shut. “Serve me!”

This only threw Flug back into a fit of giggles, shaking so hard some of the tea spilled out from the top of his glass. He snorted as he walked over and placed the glasses down on the table, and lifted a spare hand to rub at the tears forming in the corner of his eyes. When he glanced back up at her, he spotted how she leaned forward, eyes wide with delight and eager grin on her face. The adorable expression, the way her eyes delighted at the way Flug laughed at her joke, just made him chuckle more.

“Okay princess,” he retorted, going over to pull his desk chair over to the coffee table.

“That's Your Holiness,” she said, lifting her chin and looking down her nose at him, but a wide grin broke across her face even as she desperately tried to hide it and it ruined the whole thing.

“Bring up the angel thing one more time I'm kicking you out,” Flug countered, pointing at her warningly.

“Right sorry,” she responded, eyes darting to the side, but the smile was plastered across her face and she snorted.

The two of them sat like that for a while, just chatting. Laverna picked up the glass of tea Flug had made for her and sipped it, closing her eyes and smiling slightly. A strand of her long hair fell from its place tucked behind her ears, as she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and looked up at Flug.

They talked about nothing for a while. Trotting around the subject both of them knew they needed to talk about, but neither really wanting to breach the subject. So they talked circles, Flug gesturing freely with his newly healed arm, and Laverna nodding and tapping her fingers against the side of the glass.

When they finally ran out of small talk, Flug cleared his throat, glancing out the window in the general direction of where he knew Coeus' labs carved its way into the skyline.

“So,” he said, turning back to her.

He could see her expression falter, turning from the content, gentle smile into a look of concern and disappointment.

“So,” she said. Her eyes traveled over to the television, where the news was silenced and running noiselessly.

“You're with Coeus now?” Flug offered.

“Yeah, since I helped after the break-in, Coeus let me in on this new investigation,” her eyes flickered to Flug's face and a small smile flickered across her face. Flug watched her tilt her head in humor, but he felt like it didn't quite reach her eyes. “Guess I didn't need your help after all, huh?”

“Guess not,” Flug replied, offering a nervous smile. “I'm still am really sorry – “

“ _No,_ ” she sang, shaking her head and sending her loose strands of hair swishing through the air. “Don't worry hon, but ah,” her smile fell again and she furrowed a brow, “I did mention you and they seem to be under the impression that you're coming back.”

“Oh,” Flug grimaced, averting his eyes guiltily.

“Yeah why's that?” She asked, but Flug heard the teasing tone of her voice, and when he looked back at her she was smiling.

“Guess I still have to build up the guts,” he replied, rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Don't worry Flug, I won't tell on you,” she giggled, winking exaggeratedly.

“Thanks,” he replied, relaxing. He smiled contently, and they both sipped at their drinks and enjoyed the comfortable silence.

Unfortunately, it couldn't stay that way, no matter how much he wished it could.

“So, uh, Coeus got... threatened?” He asked, turning his gaze to the news. She frowned and followed his gaze.

“Yeah, they're calling it vandalism, but that's just because they don't want to admit to the news that they got broken into again,” she mumbled, pursing her lips in disdain.

“They got broken into _again?_ ” Flug asked, eyes wide. “I hadn't heard that part!”

“Yup,” she replied. Her eyes went back to Flug, and a small bit of humor flickered behind them. “I'll give you three whole guesses who.”

“Monocle man,” Flug said immediately, expression and tone completely deadpan.

Laverna's sour expression suddenly broke, and she laughed loudly, hanging her hand.

“You got it, that's him,” she said, voice strangled through her giggles.

“I can't believe he's at it again,” Flug muttered, pursing his lips. Laverna doubled over now, physically gasping. Flug smiled, enjoying the moment of revelry.

But again, he had to be the one to ruin it, like always.

“Okay, but seriously,” Flug said, smiling slightly as Laverna rubbed at her face. He was still proud he'd successfully lightened the mood. “What did he do?”

“That's the weird part,” Laverna replied, regaining her calm again. Her brow furrowed and she but her bottom lip. “He didn't do anything.”

“What do you mean?” Flug asked, confused.

“Well I mean he left those threats – or, sorry, 'vandalism,” she rolled her eyes and made air quotes, before dropping her hands and returning to her confused expression, “but other than that he didn't _do_ anything. Nothing was stolen and nothing was broken. He even shut down the whole security system _just_ like last time, but I guess since nobody was there he just left?” She furrowed her brow in confusion, and Flug felt his stomach flip.

“You don't think – that he was looking for me?” Flug asked. “Like, specifically?”

“Honestly?” She asked, giving him a pitying look that already answered Flug's question. He nodded anyway, and she sighed and shrugged. “Yeah, absolutely.”

“Did you get to read the writing?” He asked suddenly, cutting to the point.

She started and looked back up at him, confused.

“Yeah of course, why?” She asked, tilting her head, causing her hair to fall to the side.

“They covered it up, wouldn't say what it said on the news,” Flug replied.

Laverna's expression suddenly morphed into one of anger, surprising Flug as she scowled. She turned to glare at the television.

“See? This is why you can never trust them!” She made a vague gesture at the television.

“Them?” Flug asked, shocked at her sudden anger.

“Just – “ her eyes flickered from him, to the television, to the window, back to him, “I don't know, big companies like Coeus always cover stuff up! It's so aggravating, especially when normal people's lives are in danger! I mean don't the scientists who work there deserve to know? Don't _you_ deserve to know?”

She pinned Flug with her look. It was oddly sharp, and Flug felt immediately defensive.

“I would appreciate knowing the specifics of a threat aimed at me, yes, that would be nice,” Flug said diplomatically. When Laverna didn't look away, he raised an eyebrow and asked, “I thought you wanted to work there? I mean _I'm_ the one who's done with them.”

Her eyes widened a fraction and darted away.

“Okay,” she shrugged, and dropped her eyes, “That's fair. I _do_ want to work there, but it's just not fair for them to sweep it under the rug is all. The scientists who work there don't deserve to be put in danger from some monster and not know it.”

Her voice sounded far away, but Flug decided not to comment.

“I agree,” he replied instead, a lopsided grin gracing his face, “That was me, in case you've forgotten.”

She paused for a second, before blushing slightly and smiling.

“Fair. Truce?”

“I didn't even know we were fighting,” he replied.

She licked her lips, thinking, then shrugged.

“Anyway,” she announced loudly, changing the subject and rolling her eyes. “The 'vandalism'.”

“Yes, I sure would like to hear about that,” Flug commented dryly. “So on a scale from 1 to -”

“Oh eleven. Immediate eleven,” she cut in.

“Great, okay, lay it on me,” Flug sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“It was weirdly elaborate for being written on a wall,” she replied. “I was almost impressed. How did nobody notice a demon painting, like, a paragraph onto the wall of a famous building?”

“I don't know, but what did it say?” Flug asked, cutting to the chase. She looked vaguely put out, but continued.

“Well it was addressed: _Dear Doctors,_ ” she began, “so it was, I guess, _technically_ addressed to the whole company?” She gave Flug a look, and he shrugged and nodded. She cleared her throat. “And then it said: _I'd like to kindly request you return my property –_ “

“'Or else?'” Flug joked in an attempt to play off the building dread, but his voice was dead and the joke fell flat.

“I think the 'or else' was implied,” she replied, humoring him.

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled. He felt like getting up and pacing, but forced himself to sit still. “Sorry, what did the rest of it say?”

“ _Cooperate immediately, otherwise it is only a matter of time_ ,” she said. “Signed _Black Hat._ Not even subtle.”

Flug stared at her for a moment. “That's _it?_ What exactly is that supposed to tell us?”

“To be threatened?” Laverna offered, shrugging.

“Yeah well, I think Coeus and I were both already feeling threatened so nothing new,” he replied. In a fit of irritation he reached up and scratched at his face, gritting his teeth and tapping his foot rapidly. He felt trapped, and he felt the sudden urge to get up and do something.

“Uhm...” he heard her hum nervously. His eyes shot back up to where she was obviously avoiding looking at his face. “And there was, ah... like more but – well there was one more thing about it,” she finished finally, nodding as she decided on her words.

“Oh, _great,_ lay it on me,” he replied, throwing his hands into the air.

Laverna jumped slightly at the movement, startled by his burst of energy, but she quickly recovered.

“Well... we can't be sure right now, and I haven't had a chance to steal a look at the actual reports, but, um, we think that it was written, or well painted I guess... in blood.”

When she finally stopped dancing around the word, she grimaced as it left her mouth at last. After she finished the sentence, she looked up at Flug again, gauging his reaction.

Flug just sat there, manic energy frozen over immediately. He stared at her, blinking slowly.

“In... _blood_?” He said at last, voice deadpan.

“Yes,” she confirmed. She grimaced and leaned forward slightly, watching Flug's face.

“Like... _real blood?_ ” He asked, still oddly calm.

“Yes,” she repeated.

“ _Who's blood?_ ” His voice finally escalated. His body was still frozen, but his mind was racing a mile an minute and his heart jumped up into his throat.

“You know, that's a very good question,” she said, letting out one dour exhale that half-resembled a dry laugh. “That was my first question.”

“...a _nd?_ ” He asked, brows rising almost to his hairline as he held out his hands in an attempt to convey his utter incredulousness.

“We don't know?” She replied. “Or at least I don't know because I'm not _really_ a part of that, but-!” She cut in as Flug looked like he was about to jump to his feet, “nobody from the company is missing or hurt! So it couldn't have been a scientist.”

“But it's _human blood?_ ” Flug's voice had settled into a high-pitched squeak at this point.

“We don't know that!” Laverna exclaimed in an attempt to calm him down. “We don't know that!”

“Hey,” Flug said, “Hey can I just say, _what the fuck?_ ”

She stared at him a moment, before laughing dryly and resting her head against her hand. “You know what, I thought the same thing.”

They sat in silence for a second as Flug took a couple deep breaths.

“Okay so just, logistically, how much blood would that be?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I mean, enough to write a message on a wall?” She offered, grinning lopsidedly.

Flug let out a puff of air and rolled his eyes.

“I don't understand,” Flug said, “Why would he do that? Why would he break in just to write something _outside_? Why wouldn't he just come after me personally if that's what he's getting at!”

Laverna shrugged. “Maybe he can't find you? Obviously he was looking where he thought you'd be, but with you not being there, he must have gotten... annoyed?”

“I suppose,” Flug responded, as she still stared off into space, squinting and searching for an appropriate word for the indescribable emotion of what could probably only be classified as 'Black Hat'.

“Why is he after you specifically anyway?” Laverna asked, finally snapping out of it and giving up.

The question was like a bucket of cold water over Flug's head. His heart practically stopped and all the energy in him froze over.

“Huh?” He replied. Eloquent.

“I mean, I understand he has to be mad you got away or whatever,” she said, furrowing her brow, “but this seems a little... excessive?”

Flug's mind stuttered, and for a second, an excruciatingly long second, he considered coming clean.

But again he felt a pain in his chest at the idea, and terror at the consequences now that he'd let it stretch this long.

“He's Black Hat, does anything he does make sense?” Flug said at last, almost tittered.

“I guess not,” Laverna responded, nodding. She shrugged.

“Can we talk about something else?” Flug asked. When Laverna gave him a questioning look, he just frowned and said, “I can only take so much.”

“Of course, sorry!” She chirped, look changing to one of concern.

So they chatted more. In the end, Flug asked for a couple pointers in self-defense as well, and Laverna chuckled as he demonstrated just how terrible he was at defending himself.

As the sun began to set, Laverna looked out the window and announced that she'd be needing to leave. After all, she had Important Superhero Things to get up to.

Flug sighed in relief. His mind immediately flickered to getting back to his work, but his eyes were already beginning to droop. He was still sleep deprived, and even the threat of another nightmare couldn't drive sleep off this time, it was persistent.

So he waved goodbye as Laverna skipped out onto the street, and sighed as he closed the door behind her.

Once she was gone, he felt a sudden unexpected bite of guilt. He was lying to her, he was lying to _everyone._ The only people he technically wasn't lying to in this endeavor were the _villains,_ the _bad guys._ Only Black Hat knew about his true actions , and wasn't that just ironic.

He supposed Dementia knew too, and she wasn't _really_ a villain, but she wasn't exactly a hero either.

_Oh well._

He stared at his feet, and was surprised at himself at how easily he waved the emotion away.

He blinked, caught in a moment of self-conflict, before deciding it wasn't important and that he really needed to get to bed anyway. So he went off and collapsed.

 

* * *

 

Like his last dream, this one was fuzzy. Only this time it was also _suffocating_.

He panicked for a second as he struggled to breath in, which he found he simply couldn't do, but when he remembered it was a dream and breathing was unnecessary he pushed it back down.

In fact, this dream was even less clear than before, he had to squint to make out the objects surrounding him and directly in front of him. He tried to find his way forward, but instead ran smack dab into a wall.

Flug took a couple steps back and glanced up to examine his surroundings. A spark of recognition hit him, and he realized he stood in front of Coeus staring up at the towering building as it cut sharply into the sky like a blade.

Oddly enough, he was at the lab like before, but he was on the street. He tried to enter, to reach for the door to gain entrance to what was still technically his workplace, but with every grab it dodged back out of his reach.

He stared confused, and tried again, before he realized it was useless. He couldn't get in.

It struck him as ironic, and he laughed slightly as he made one last grab and the door made one last dodge. He was truly locked out now.

So instead he stepped back, examining the glass windows that sprawled up to the sky. It was as though the building was encased in a heavy smog – which wasn't normal, his city didn't really have a smog layer.

Yet the air was just a little too dark to be a normal fog.

He shrugged, and his eyes traveled back down, scanning the windows. He scowled as he noticed they were completely reflective. He couldn't even see in.

When his eyes finally traveled all the way down, locking on his own reflection in the mirror, he gasped, once again choking on the smog surrounding him.

There, in the mirror, was him. But something was wrong.

But in some cruel trick, he couldn't tell what it was. His eyes darted from his pale face, to his disheveled hair, to his hands raised up in defense, to his long lab coat blowing out behind him like a cape. He tried desperately to discern what was wrong, but his brain simply wouldn't let him. He tried to take a breath in to calm himself, but it only made him choke on smog and gasp.

He grasped at his own throat, but some warning bell in his head was still telling him to _find what was wrong._

The mirrored surface of the windows were starting to surround him, locking him in and mocking him. He spun in a circle, but no matter where he faced, he found his own terrified face staring back at him.

He let out a strangled yowl, clawing at his face. He felt his hand knock against his goggles, and jumped as he realized they were there. He tried to yank them off his face, but they wouldn't budge. The alarm in his brain grew louder and he desperately tried to pull them off with all his might – to get them off, to get a clear look at his face, to expose it.

But they wouldn't leave, they wouldn't get off of his eyes. He yanked at the lenses, clawed at the band, pushed, pulled, but they stayed firmly in place, clouding his vision. They were blocking his view of the world, tinting everything a shade of black and altering reality.

When his gaze fell back to his tormented reflection in the glass, he stared in horror as the smog solidified around him, pressing in and crawling down his throat.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear.

It was too hot. It was too cold. It was too quiet. It was too loud.

It was too much. 

 

* * *

 

Flug woke up with a jolt to his phone loudly ringing. He sighed, picking up the phone and eyeing the unknown number. He raised an eyebrow, and accepting it, holding it up to his ear.

“Hello?” He asked, sitting straight up and blearily rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey,” the voice said, “Is this Flug?”

“Yes? Who is this?” He asked, eyes darting around his apartment warily.

“It's Dementia,” the voice said, and Flug's sleepy brain quickly caught up, putting the high voice with the red haired woman.

“Oh, Dementia? What's wrong?” He asked, yawning and stretching.

“Hey, I'm outside your house,” she said, instead of answering, “can I come in?”

“You're _what?_ ” He asked, suddenly awake. He stumbled out of bed and to his feet.

“Yeah I'm outside, can I come in?” She repeated, nonchalant.

“How do you know where my _house_ is?” He asked, stumbling into the common room. He slipped on his shoes and yanked the door open.

There she was, dressed in a similar get-up to – well he supposed it was two days ago now – and grinning widely. She gave him a violent wave, bouncing on her heels.

“Hey partner,” she said, taking her phone away from her face and turning it off with a final 'beep'. She brushed right past him and strolled in like she owned the place. Flug gaped.

“How did you know where I _live?_ ” He asked again, frantically following her. His brow furrowed as he noticed her stocking looked torn and her clothes were ruffled. She was covered in dirt.

“I, uh, may have tailed you last time,” she admitted, grinning coyly and sticking out her tongue.

“You – you _what?_ ” He exclaimed, straining. She'd been in his life for two days and she was already taking _years_ off his life.

“Yeah, I mean, how would I have made sure you didn't ditch me if I didn't,” she replied, shooting him a wink.

“Okay but you can't just – “ He started, expecting her to ask about the device, or the 'scheme,' or some other topic he was _unprepared_ to deal with at this hour.

“Can I crash here?” She said suddenly, cutting him off. But her voice was oddly quiet and soft, in a way that took Flug completely off-guard. He started, and locked eyes with her. She was looking back at him with an earnest expression, before averting her eyes guiltily. “I, uh, might not have a place to stay,” she admitted, and her mouth scrunched up in a grimace, as though she hated to admit it.

“Oh,” Flug said, he fumbled for a moment, trying to think of the right words. “I mean – are you sure you don't have anywhere else – “

He fumbled again, as she bristled and glared at him.

“Okay,” he relented weakly, holding up his hands. “I mean, I guess... for tonight.”

She grinned triumphantly, and Flug sighed.

His guest instincts kicked in and his eyes scanning the room. “Ah, I can sleep on the chair and you can take the bed if you want?” He offered, he already felt like collapsing again.

“Why would I do that, it's _your_ house,” she said, raising an eyebrow and jutting out a hip.

Flug's brain buffered for a second, and he just squinted at the chair as if it had the answer he was looking for.

“Well, I mean, it's polite?” He tried weakly.

Her judging look swiftly fell into a smug smile.

“Don't worry, I've got experience couch-surfing, I'm fine,” she announced, hopping to her feet and smiling. She patted him on the head where he still stood hovering by the door. He made a noise and ducked his head as she ruffled his hair.

“Hey – “

“And I can use your shower too?” She asked, spinning and shooting him a cheeky smile.

Flug just stared, befuddled, at how quickly she'd come and weaseled her way in.

He was kind of a pushover.

“I mean, go ahead,” he said, and watched as she didn't wait a second more. She trotted off and into his bedroom.

A thrill of panic ran through him and his eyes shot over to his desk, searching for his things. He sighed as he spotted the shield, gun, and sphere all still sitting there. Just in case, he walked over and swept up all the devices, hiding them away. He placed the gun and shield in a locked drawer, and paused as he held the sphere.

It was warm in his hands, but not a burning heat. It was a pleasant warmth, and just holding it made his eyes droop again, lulling him back to sleep.

He felt like he'd had a nightmare, no, he knew he'd had a nightmare, but he couldn't remember it.

Must not have been important then.

He tucked the sphere away as well, locking the drawer.

He went into his room, he could hear the sound of the shower running from his bathroom, and pulled out some pajamas for the woman. He knocked and announced he was placing them outside the bathroom door, before leaving and returning to the common room where he waited until the sound of running water stopped and Dementia emerged in a loose t-shirt and pair of sweatpants.

She had one of his towels wrapped around her head, and strolled in like she owned the place.

Of course she did.

She looked immensely better (brighter and healthier) with the dirt washed off, but his eyes caught sight of what appeared to be bruises on her arm. His eyes widened in alarm, and he was about to say something, before she glared at him and he refrained, though his concerned look didn't leave.

She plopped down in the plush chair and grabbed the remote. She pointed it at the television, but paused, which caused Flug to look over at her.

“Thanks,” she finally said, quietly, in a voice Flug almost couldn't hear. He frowned.

“Don't worry – “

“Don't mention it,” she followed up quickly, back to her loud volume, and turned on the television.

Flug pouted, but gave in and turned back to his desk. He looked over his blueprints and considered what he could do to be productive. He wasn't sleeping again now, no way. So he tried to focus.

But he couldn't focus, what with the woman flicking between channels behind him. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. Maybe if could get a couple more hours of sleep in, he'd be able to concentrate more.

He got up to leave, pushing back his chair. He was about to announce his departure to the other.

“I'm – “

It was immediately interrupted by Dementia's loud “Holy shit!” He winced and turned around to glare at her.

He froze and his eyes widened as he caught sight of the television.

On screen, displayed in blinding color, was a blazing fire. An inferno that took up the whole camera as a helicopter circled the flaming building.

It wasn't the fire, but the location that caught his attention.

As if called into action, he heard a siren wail outside the window by his desk. He jumped into action and ran over, ripping open the curtain and yanking open the window in two fluid motions. He stuck his head out and searched desperately.

Flug watched in horror as a fire engine whipped past his house and down the street, speeding off towards the pillar of smoke that he could just catch sight of. It was rising into the sky and back-lit by the stars and blindingly bright moon.

He burst into motion, grabbing his coat, shoes, keys, and running towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Dementia asked, watching him with confusion, but he was already heading out the door.

Traffic was backed up down the block, nobody was moving, and commotion blurred by around him. But Flug couldn't concentrate, not on the people running around, not on the sirens and shouting, his gaze was narrowed in on the rising smoke column, only a few blocks away. His feet carried him unconsciously as he stared, eyes wide. Someone bumped into him, knocking him to the side, but he barely noticed.

Without thinking, his feet were tracing a familiar path, until be found himself standing at the edge of a crudely set up barricade. He bumped into it and leaned forward, trying desperately to get a closer look, as if the sight that was obviously laid out before him wasn't enough to confirm this reality.

Police officers were up-keeping the barrier, preventing the various onlookers from getting close to the burning building. He saw a couple firefighters desperately trying to extinguish it, but no no avail, it was just too widespread.

“Sir, please stand back,” an officer said. Flug blinked quickly and looked over to where the man was waving him backwards. He hadn't even noticed he'd been leaning in towards the inferno, like a moth dancing closer and closer to the flame.

“Sorry,” he muttered, taking a few quick, desperate steps back.

His eyes traveled to where Coeus' logo printed proudly on the glass doors to the building was back-lit by the bright, hungry fire. It danced behind the glass, casting a large shadow of the solar system and its axis onto the pavement in front of the building, blanketing across the whole street.

It fell across Flug, imprinting his skin with its silhouette and throwing his own shadow back and onto the buildings on the opposite side of the street.

The movement of the flames distorted the image of the logo, making it seem monstrous and intimidating. It was as if, when literally held to the flame, any and all pretense had been shed and the very insignia has morphed into something _wrong._

He still couldn't believe his eyes. His work was _burning._

His _world_ was burning.

Suddenly, everything _exploded_.

The area around the building was filled with a sudden deafening noise. Glass shattered outwards in a shower of shards with the force of the sonic wave, and the bystanders who had been crowding for a closer look screamed and ran. The very ground shook, reverberating and quaking with the force of the explosion.

Flug's footing fell out from under him, causing him to fall backwards onto the ground.

He landed hard, scraping his hands and hissing as he felt asphalt violently dig into his palms. When he felt a wave of burning heat rush towards him, he ducked lower to the ground, wincing as hot air washed over his head like a stream.

There was more shouting, the police officers were trying to reorganize themselves, ordering a full evacuation of the block. There was motion around him, people running. But he just lifted his head and stared in shock.

The fire had gotten worse, it was now blazing on several floors, and with the glass having been shattered heavy black smoke finally escaped the building and poured out of every window. He tried to think of what could have caused it.

Another explosion rang out, even louder this time, and Flug reached up to cover his ears. He felt a warmth as he clutched the sides of his face, smearing onto his ears and cheeks.

A tremor ran through the ground again, causing the loose stones around him to rattle and a car alarm to go off down the block.

The fire must have spread to a reactor, or the gas line, or the chemical lab.

But there were so many safety measures though, so many suppressant systems and fireproof doors between different floors and labs. Either they had all failed, or someone had deactivated them.

Someone had deactivated them.

Flug had been trying to push it off, but the guilt hit him full force now, as he sat on the ground staring up at the blazing inferno.

It was his fault, Black Hat must have done this because of him.

God, had anyone been inside? Had anyone gotten killed?

Dementia's words from earlier, the 'ransack and murder' rushed to the forefront of his mind.

He was struggling to breathe, it felt like something was blocking his windpipe.

Someone, a police officer, was trying to get his attention, but he simply sat there, gasping, and watched in horror as the entirety of Coeus labs went up in fire and smoke.

And it was his fault.

The thought circled around. His fault, his fault, his fault.

“ _Sir!_ ”

Flug snapped back into reality, looking up at the officer.

“Sir you have to _leave_ , we're evacuating the block!”

As if on queue, another explosion rang out, and the ground shook.

“ _Now!_ ”

Flug stood up, but he was still in a daze. He nodded when the officer asked if he was okay, nodded when he asked if he would leave, nodded when he asked if he knew his way home, shook his head when he asked if he needed help.

The officer gave him a look, but hurried him away, and soon enough he was standing a couple blocks away, back to the fire.

He stared at the ground. The red light of the blaze was still visible, and it back-lit Flug, throwing his shadow down the block. It was blown out of proportion, stretched out and covering everything he could see, plunging the world in front of him into shadow with his own silhouette.

His feet mindlessly took him home.

Flug lifted his hands and looked at his palms, examining in a detached nature how they were bleeding from the fall. Not a lot, but enough to be visible, enough to smear. He watched as it slowly oozed out and pooled into the dip in his palm.

This was all his fault.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Also I feel like I should clarify that even though both Flug and BH's guns use electricity, Flug's is a stun gun and BH's is NOT))
> 
> WELL THAT'S ALL FOR NOW FOLKS!  
> Hope you enjoyed the super long update because it about took me out haha  
> Anyway, as always, let me know what you think!! I love to hear from you all!  
> #self-promo - My tumblr is jadetigress.tumblr.com and I post updates, ideas, shit-posts, reblog stuff, and just love to interact with y'all over there!

**Author's Note:**

> I live on coffee and positive reinforcement so hit me up and let me know what you think. I swear a can update regularly, promise.


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